


Before the Third Star

by rainedparade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 2005-2010, Alternate Reality, Attempts at Abstinence, Eventual Wedding Ceremony, M/M, POV Alternating, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 162,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainedparade/pseuds/rainedparade
Summary: When it was the two of them, the pitch became their world and the ball, their very own sun.A story about football, love, and life featuring Leo and Kun from 2005-2010. Takes place in an alternate reality with liberal use of the butterfly effect.





	1. I measure the time and I stand amazed

**Author's Note:**

> I want to disclaim I don't normally post long fics in one go but with the debacle that was the previous fic, I just wanted to make sure there was a proper ship before posting AND I only settled on chapter titles around chapter 20. Said titles are filched from Vienna Teng's "Eric's Song". Writing was a lot of fun, tweaking real life events as necessary, this fic is not meant as a reference!
> 
> Of course I'd love to know what you think of this and if you get to the end, kudos! I personally love marathon-reading so if you do too, this fic is for you.
> 
> With special thanks to Ximena for fangirling with me during this. Thank you for writing ManCity!Kun and super excited to read more of your fic. <3
> 
> There is a fair amount of cumbia, religion, family, FIFA, and of course, football. Oh wait, and also food. Basically it's a slice-of-life fic that takes place in an alternate universe where Argentina wins the 2010 World Cup but MORE IMPORTANTLY Leo and Kun are a thing and everyone who knows them knows about it.

Chapter 1  
 **I measure the time and I stand amazed**

The great Martín Fierro had returned home after three years away to find he didn't have a home anymore. Leo could still remember the anguish in his grandmother's voice when she got to that part of the story and how, when she began to read what happened to Fierro's family, her voice would crack and she would take a deep breath, blinking back tears.

He didn't understand, then, what it was like, to leave everything behind. Rosario had been the whole world then. His family were proud _Rosarinos_ who had scoffed at even moving to the capital.

Yet here he was, back in Argentina yet hours away from home. His father hugged him tight, stroking his hair, and Leo tried to keep himself from holding on for too long.

"I can stay with you," his father offered, stepping back and cradling Leo's face with his hands.

Leo wanted to say yes. His father knew him well, knew his habits and eccentric ways. His father would ask for the things Leo liked to eat and eat the leftovers from Leo's plate without complaint. Leo shook his head instead, trying to smile. He could feel his lower lip quivering. His father swallowed and hugged him again.

"Really, Lionel," his father insisted. "I can stay. Your mother and siblings can come see us."

Leo shook his head again, even as his fingers dug into his father's threadbare jacket.

"No," he said, and he heard his voice hitch just like his grandmother's when she recited what must have happened to Fierro's wife. "You've kept Ma waiting long enough."

His father heaved a sigh. Whether it was relief or reluctance, he didn't know. But his father let go of him and Leo did the same. Then he took a step back and placed a hand on Leo's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"My little boy has grown up," he said. "Okay then," he clapped Leo on the back, "I'm going home. We'll all come down to see you off, you can be sure of that!" He pressed a kiss to Leo's forehead and hugged him again and Leo stood on the curb, still as a statue, as his father heaved two suitcases into the back of the car.

"Be good!" his father called in parting, "And write home everyday!"

He watched as his father drove off. It was half past five then: in Barcelona, at this time of year, the city would still covered in sunlight. In contrast, Buenos Aires (and Rosario too) was already cloaked in shadow. Even after the little gray Volkswagon disappeared from view, Leo remained standing outside. Other people, players and spectators and coaches and parents, came and went. They knew better than to try talking with him.

Leo closed his eyes, breathing in the unfamiliar air. His teammates in Spain thought he would be happy. He was going home, to play on behalf of the national team. There should have been no higher honor.

It was Argentina and he was Argentinian. This is your home, he told himself, and you should be happy to be back. But it wasn't home and no amount of repetition could convince him otherwise. Only in Spain was he Argentinian. In Argentina, he was Rosarino through and through.

He hadn't really wanted his father to stay. Rather, he had wanted nothing more than to sneak out with him. Just a day, just an hour even. The photos and stories his mother sent him through the web couldn't compare to the real thing and in that moment, it was as if he was fourteen years old and saying goodbye to his family at the airport all over again. His chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. He clutched at his jumper, purchased from his old club, and curled his fingers about the logo.

Around two years ago, when the news that he had made his debut for Barça broke out, his mother had stopped sending him updates regarding Newell's. Only when pressed did she mournfully admit that their family had been barred from it. The news had shocked Leo to his core and he had been inconsolable in the following days. His father had raged on his behalf, swearing they would crawl back and beg for him to sign on when they were done with Barcelona. But it was a blow for him too, to be kicked out of his beloved club. Leo couldn't even bring himself to curse it.

He staggered over to the main building, pressing a palm against the concrete. Deep breaths, he told himself, don't think about Newell's. It was no use; his brain was already calculating the distance from Buenos Aires to Rosario and when exactly his father would arrive home. Rosario was only three, maybe four, hours away. He could have made it. There were no more practice matches today anyway. If he had gone with his father and just stayed the night, he could have woken up at four and made the drive back and no one in the camp would be any wiser. 

But then if his father had relented and let him tag along then surely the director at the camp would get angry with him. And his father would have to ferry him back and forth, wasting precious time that he would otherwise have been spending with Rodrigo, Matias, and Maria.

If, if, if.

Leo waited until the darkness settled before going inside. His father had already checked him in and unpacked his suitcase. He was to be rooming with Óscar again. When he went back to the shared dorm room, he saw Óscar had also settled in and then left. He climbed onto the upper bunk and closed his eyes, drifting off within minutes.

He dreamt of Rosario: of his mother cooking at the stove, of going to matches with his grandmother, of playing in the garden with his cousins. He dreamt of sunrises and sunsets that seemed to set the forest aflame, of winters without snow and summers so hot he swore he would melt. He dreamt of the walls that were made from the skulls of stacked cattle and the twisting bumpy road that led to his house which made the cobblestoned streets of Spain seem flat.

When Leo woke up, there were dried tears running down the sides of his face. He climbed down from his bunk and went to the bathroom to dry heave.

He understood. Really, he did. The last time they let him go back to Rosario, he had begged to stay. He remembered screaming and clutching onto his mother's skirt, kicking up such a fuss that even his brothers had cried for him. But it was no use. There was a contract. A life for a life.

It was the first time he had seen his father cry. He hadn't cried when they sent the rest of the family to the airport, nor had he cried when they left Rosario. It was only when Leo refused to eat for two days and then insisted on playing. When he woke up in the infirmary, his father was holding onto his hand, murmuring prayers without end.

Leo remembered the sound of his father's rosary clattering to the floor as his father reached over to hug him tight. He remembered how his shoulder had been damp. How his father hadn't said anything, because what was there to say?

He took a deep breath, concentrating on the future. He would play in the Netherlands and then there would be two and a half months before the next season started in Barcelona. Plus, his family would drive down to see him off. He had waited a year for the chance to go back, he just needed to last another five weeks.

With that mantra in-mind, he pushed himself up. Óscar still wasn't back, even though it was past midnight. His father should have already arrived. He was considering going back to sleep when his stomach growled. Though he didn't feel hungry, it had been some time since he'd eaten.

Despite the late hour, the canteen was abuzz with activity. Two dozen boys his age were huddled around a color TV watching a live match. Leo made his way to the vending machine, ignoring the whispers and stares. He never knew what to say. Ezequiel would be coming in a week and he, at least, was a fellow Rosarino. With Ezequiel too, he never knew what to say. He was jealous of the other for being able to play on Newell's but obviously couldn't voice such things because playing for Barcelona was the higher honor.

After he bought his midnight snack, he wandered over to the match. Of the twenty-odd faces, he recognized most of them but only knew Óscar by name. They made eye contact and Óscar nodded. Leo awkwardly nodded back.

"Wanna watch?" Óscar asked him.

Leo shook his head, uncomfortable with the wide-eyed staring from the others, shuffling over to sit at an unoccupied table. As he ate, he watched the match continue. It was Independiente against the Juniors and the score was an even 1-1. Though he didn't support either team, he was relieved it was Independiente and the Juniors playing; he wouldn't have been able to stay if it were Newell's.

About sixty minutes into the match, there was a great cheer. Óscar groaned, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head, while a dozen of the other boys danced in circles, hooting. The score was now 2-1 in the Juniors' favor.

Leo finished his meal and slunk over to the television, interested in seeing the rest of the match unfold. The other boys paid him no heed at this point, entirely engrossed in the match. Independiente was not letting up and less than five minutes after the Juniors' goal, the announcer (clearly an Independiente fan) was screaming: "And there he goes! Number 20, Kun Aguero! Beautifully dribbling past Galván and De Muner and here he is -- left or right -- and it's a goal! A goal, a goal, 2-2 for Independiente and the second goal of the match for Kun Aguero!"

The usually reticient Óscar jumped out of his seat, pumping his fist into the air.

"Yes!" he shouted, pointing at the previously-celebrating players, "How do you like that? How do you like those points now?"

Leo watched on as the goal was replayed. He was surprised to find the striker a boy his age -- younger, even. The announcer prattled on Aguero's accomplishments, boasting among them having the youngest ever debut in the Primera División. And Leo remembered having heard of that particular feat. If Ezequiel or Pablo had been there, he would have asked them about Aguero. Surely they knew of him. Would he be joining them in the Netherlands? Unfortunately, the season was not yet over and it would be a week at least before they made it to the training camp. So Leo kept to himself, watching from the sidelines of the crowd as the number 10 for Independiente made a third goal at eighty-five minutes. There was no time afterwards for the Juniors to recover and Independiente went on to win the match.

As usual, watching a match made his own feet itch to be on the pitch. As the fans of Independiente were screaming and shouting, Leo contemplated sneaking out to the fields for some midnight training. All his homesickness and anxiety would be washed away, as it had always been, when there was a ball at his feet. Furthermore, he knew the floodlights were left on all night.

Before he could sneak out of the canteen, one of the staffers stumbled upon them. There ensued a long rant about being responsible for upholding the nation and how could they be trusted with training if they couldn't tuck themselves into bed? And so the lot of them were sent back to their rooms with a reminder to be on the pitch at 9AM sharp.

Leo followed Óscar back to their shared room, climbing back onto the top bunk while Óscar beelined for the bathroom. Leo pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes. He was already sound asleep by the time his roommate had finished washing up.


	2. My hand is outstretched to the damp of the haze

Chapter 2  
 **My hand is outstretched to the damp of the haze**

Emotions were fickle things. Sometimes, when something bad -- but not utterly terrible -- happened and his body was filled with irritated tension, it didn't matter if something good -- something even better than the bad thing -- was announced because he was still angry about the first thing. So even though Kun was surprised and honored to be called up for the U20 squad, he was still sore over the draw against Córdoba to truly celebrate.

His parents didn't help. They thought he was too young to go to the Netherlands by himself, nevermind that he would be going with the national team.

"You're only sixteen," his mother chided.

"I'm turning seventeen in three days!" Kun protested.

"Even worse!" his mother shot back, "Not only are you missing your brother's birthday but we'll be missing your birthday too!"

Kun sighed. He was sixteen years old and still never had the last word when his mother was involved.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Tell Ferraro I can't make it?"

His mother huffed. He could imagine her sucking in a great breath of air to start another tirade. He was saved from this by his father.

"Kun, are you there?"

Kun nodded, and then remembered his father couldn't see him. "Yes, Papi," he answered.

"Your mother worries for you."

"I know, Papi."

"But you've really got a gift for the sport. Anyone with eyes can see that."

It was Kun's turn to huff. "Some gift," he complained, "I couldn't score a single goal off Córdoba AND Quiroz benched me in the second half!"

"Señor Quiroz wants the best for you," his father soothed, "He knows how young you are. We all know how far you've come. Look at us now, Kun. Do you think we would be living here without you?"

"Maybe," he insisted, "Things have gotten better, haven't they?"

"Not enough for us to live how we live now," his father answered. Kun couldn't see him, but if he closed his eyes, he could imagine him shaking his head, as patient as he had been when explaining to Kun he couldn't just pick up the ball and toss it into the goal. "This is all you. You know that."

Kun felt his throat constrict. He blinked back tears.

"Thanks, Papi."

"And so we come to the most important question: what do you want to do? If you want to come back, then come back. We'll have a great party in the garden."

"I want that, Papi, I really do." He trailed off and bit on his bottom lip, "But I don't feel good. Ending the season like that doesn't sit well with me. I know I could have played better, I know it."

"I know," his father answered. "I know it best of all."

"The plane is boarding now, Papi."

"Go then, go. We'll all come to see you off."

"Okay." Kun smiled, hanging up the phone. He exited the telephone booth and shouldered his rucksack before getting in line to board the plane.

He replayed the match and then the conversation with his parents as the flight attendants shuffled them aboard. Though he was still annoyed at his own performance, talking with his parents had made him appreciate the wider situation. Ferraro had asked for _him_ to go to the camp. _He_ was being given the opportunity to represent his country at the U20. He couldn't be fully happy about it yet, but gratitude was a step in the right direction.

Córdoba was roughly seven hundred kilometers from Buenos Aires. And the airport in Buenos Aires was another hour's drive away from the training site. Adding it all together, it meant that Kun arrived at 3AM the following morning. The staff at the camp knew he would be arriving though and someone was there to check him in. He was rooming with Nicolás, who he had seen on the bench in last week's match. Kun crept into the room, set his suitcase against the wall, and crawled up to the top bunk, falling asleep within minutes.

Nicolás was nice enough to wake him the next day. He did so by throwing back the curtains and whacking Kun in the face with his pillow.

"Fuck," Kun ground out, squeezing his eyes shut. How was it so bright out even though it was almost winter? "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty. C'mon, Ferraro wants us on the pitch at ten."

"Fucking slavedriver..." Kun grumbled, rolling out of bed. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up, but it was no use. He blearily made his way to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. That helped a little, though he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. Nicolás pre-empted this, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him to his suitcase.

"Get dressed," the other commanded.

Though Kun made a noise of protest, because he hadn't slept nearly enough to be bossed around by the Juniors, he still did as told. The problem was, Nicolás went into the bathroom to wash up, which gave Kun the opportunity to collapse into the lower bunk.

"Kun," Nicolás sighed, crossing his arms at the sight of the other. "Get out of my bed."

"You reek."

"Fuck you." Nicolás stepped forward, grabbing Kun's shoulder. "C'mon, let's go."

And so it was that Kun was herded to the canteen. Breakfast was buffet-style, and though he liked most of the options, he still wanted to sleep more than he wanted to eat. He grabbed a bit of this and that, mostly so Nicolás wouldn't hound him, and as soon as the other was catching up with other people, Kun beelined for some other table.

He ended up sitting with Lautaro and Ezequiel at a four-person table next to the window. Both of them played for Newell's, though they weren't starters, so he saw them often enough. There was a third guy there too, a pale little kid, and Kun heartened at seeing him. He made a mental note to tell his mother when she asked that he wasn't the youngest one there. The kid's eyes widened when Kun sat down, so he figured there must be some recognition.

"Kun," Ezequiel greeted, "There you are."

"How was the flight?" Lautaro asked.

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Good match against the Juniors," Ezequiel grinned. "Too bad about Cordoba though."

"Aw man," Kun scratched at the back of his neck, "Now I'm embarrassed. I think I'll go sit at another table."

"Ah, yes," Lautaro teased, "The great Kun Aguero is no longer comfortable sitting with the commoners."

"How many matches didja play this season?" Ezequiel followed, "Eight?"

"Five," Kun corrected, rolling his eyes.

"That's still more than the both of us combined, you fucking asshole." Ezequiel kicked him underneath the table.

"What can I say," Kun answered, shrugging magnaminously while returning the gesture with interest, "My talent speaks for itself."

"It sure said a lot last night, didn't it?" Lautaro guffawed.

"Fuck you," Kun laughed.

There was nothing quite like talking with players his age. Some of his teammates on Independiente were married with kids and he had no idea how to even begin to converse with them. Whereas with Ezequiel and Garay, they could swap stories about their families (well but nagging), the fans (not enough cute girls), and football gear. The fourth guy was evidently listening but he didn't say a word. Maybe he was cowed by Kun? Did the kid want an autograph, he wondered.

Soon enough the conversation turned to the best shoes to wear on the pitch, with a bitter match between Adidas and Nike. Ezequiel had declared he would acquire a pair of Nikes, come hell or high water, just to prove to Lautaro (who was showing off his Adidas) that they were the superior shoe for football. Kun didn't have a horse in the race; a shoe was a shoe as far as he was concerned.

And then the other kid spoke. It was obvious, from his soft quiet tone, that his balls had yet to drop.

"Ferraro brought some Nikes from the US," he said. "So you don't need to steal them."

"Sweet," Ezequiel clenched his fist. "Hear that, Laucho? After practice today, we look for those shoes and I'll make you eat your words."

"I'll remember that," Lautaro retorted, "For when you come crawling back, begging for a chance to try on these babies."

Kun tuned the two of them out; his interest in the fourth boy was suitably piqued. He turned to look at him and found him looking right back.

"Hey," Kun started, when it became apparent the other wouldn't speak first, "What's your name?"

Ezequiel and Lautaro shut up then but he didn't notice because he saw the other boy's eyes widen in surprise.

"You gotta be joking," Ezequiel tried, right as the other boy said:

"Leo."

Kun laughed awkwardly, reaching up to scratch his head again. He figured the kid must be a good player, to be called up and all, but he really couldn't place him. He turned back to the kid, who was still looking at him.

"Uh, sorry," he apologized. "What's your last name?"

"Messi."

That couldn't be right, Kun thought.

"Come again?" he asked.

"Messi," the kid repeated.

"Uh, sorry," Kun tried again, extending his hand -- it was a silly gesture considering there was maybe half a meter of space between them, "I'm Sergio Aguero but everyone calls me Kun. Nice to meet you... Leo... Messi."

The other kid -- Leo -- blinked, looking at his proffered hand.

"Are you serious?" Lautaro asked.

"You really don't know him?" Ezequiel echoed.

"Um, no, sorry?" Kun repeated, right as Leo took his hand and gingerly shook it. "You're not mad are you?" he asked Leo, "I've been busy with training so I don't have a lot of time to watch matches and..."

"No, no, it's fine," Leo said, and this made Kun feel even worse, that he made the little kid uncomfortable too.

"You're an idiot," Ezequiel groaned, burying his face in his palms.

Kun's retort was cut off and the whole moment interrupted when the assistant director for training broke them apart, calling everyone out to the field for warm-up exercises. The twenty-three of them were jogging and stretching when Ferraro came out and by then, Kun was too giddy at the thought of playing for Argentina to think too much about Leo.

He didn't think of the other for an entire hour.

And then the practice matches started and it was him and Ezequiel against Leo and Lucas with Óscar and Nicolás defending. For Kun, football had always been a magical sort of thing. So they were eating polenta for the second straight week. So the job prospects were as grim as ever. So their bank closed down, taking their meager savings with it. None of it mattered as soon as he stepped on the pitch. It was him, the ball, and the goal.

The situation should have been the same here. Except it wasn't. All of a sudden, it was him, the ball, and _Leo_ \-- and the goal seemed leagues away. When Leo dribbled the ball past him and scored, Kun was left in disbelief. The other boy was so small, so short, so skinny! And he made it look so easy too.

It was beautiful, and for a moment, Kun thought he would have been content to sit back and watch. But alas, the game was still going on and if it was going, then he would have to win. So he shook the shock off and powered forward, removing Leo from the equation. Once more, it was him, the ball, and the goal. He scored the second time around and was treated to a similar expression of shock on Leo's face.

"Yeah that's right," Kun teased, "Even old men can play this sport!"

Before Leo could respond (or more likely ask for clarification), Ezequiel whacked him upside of the head.

"Hey!"

"Who the fuck are you calling old, brat?"

At half an hour in with the score being 4-2 in Kun's favor (though this was only because Óscar was a more experienced and larger goalie than Nicolás), Kun decided he had enough.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Óscar demanded of him as he walked right off the pitch.

Kun ignored him, hightailing over to Ferraro.

"Yo coach," he started, "Could you _please_ put me and Leo on the same team for one match? Please?"

Despite the season, Ferraro was wearing aviator sunglasses that seemed to swallow his face. His lips puckered up and Kun imagined he was raising an eyebrow behind his shades.

"You're Sergio Aguero, yes?" Ferraro asked him.

"Yup," Kun answered, "That's me."

The older man pursed his lips, right as Ezequiel burst onto the scene.

"Sorry about this," he snarled, grabbing Kun's head and forcing him to bow, "He's an underage idiot, don't worry about him!"

"Hey, you never know if you don't try," Kun protested.

"Keep your mouth shut if you still want to make the cut," Ezequiel hissed, stepping on his foot.

With baited breath, the two of them waited before Ferraro.

"My shoulders hurt," Kun whined. Softly.

"Shut up."

"Oh my god is he going to make us stand here for the whole practice?" Kun blanched as he saw Ferraro walking away from them.

"Great," Ezequiel groaned, shooting him a glare, "Now you've gotten us kicked off the roster, thanks a lot Leonel."

"I don't get why he would be that pissed off," Kun whined, "All I wanted was to play on the same side as Leo..."

"You need to get your fucking head checked..."

Right as Kun was about to apologize -- because while there was still 2007 for him, he understood that this was the last chance for players like Ezequiel and Óscar to prove themselves on the international stage -- he saw Ferraro walk back. The other man was not alone. Kun lifted his head, curious, and was met with an equally inquisitive gaze from the hotshot baby ghost. He looked to Ferraro, whose gaze was still unreadable behind those shades.

"He," Ferraro started, pointing to Kun, "wants to play on the same side as you. Is that alright?"

Leo blinked and then shrugged. "I don't mind," he quietly answered. Kun let it pass that he was so... irreverent. It wasn't like Kun made a big deal of respecting older players (the rest of them).

"Alright then," Ferraro announced, clapping his hands.

Ezequiel straightened up like a bolt, staring at Kun in disbelief.

"What the fuck have you gotten us into?" he whispered, as Ferraro rounded everyone up for a proper eleven against eleven practice match.

"Hey," Kun defended himself, raising his hands and affecting an innocent look, "We're not off the roster, are we?"

Ezequiel looked like he had a retort, but he was thankfully tossed on the other side. Leo went to stand by him, quiet as ever. Kun grinned at him, hoping to convey reassurance, but the other just looked away.

It didn't matter. He wanted this still.

Then everyone was in position and Ferraro blew the whistle.

In a life, a year could be worth more than a decade. A month could be worth more than a year. And so it was that the fourty-five minutes the two of them played together somehow outweighed all the football Kun had played up until that point. It was no longer a singular path to the goal, but dozens of them. Between himself and Leo, they made piecemeal of their own defenders, to the point where the goalies were shouting for three marks on the two of them but it didn't matter because Leo would be there wherever he sent the ball and whenever he had a shot, Leo would be passing to him.

Every time they scored -- and they ended up scoring six times in those fourty-five minutes -- he would forget himself and run to hug Leo. It was just so amazing, so incredible, he had never played this kind of football before and now that he had, he never wanted to stop. On the fifth goal, a really nice zig-zag from the midfield to the edge of the box that featured a feint at the end, Kun was in such high spirits he grabbed Leo by the shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, just like he did with his older younger brother Mauricio. And just like Mauricio, Leo flushed bright red, seemingly to the roots of his hair, clutching on to the edges of his jersey as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

And then the match was over, Ferraro was blowing the whistle, and Leo was the one running over and throwing his arms around Kun and Kun had no time to think of how weird it was, seeing the little ghost wear such a big smile, because the rest of their team -- everyone on the squad really -- dogpiled them, ruffling their hair and kissing cheeks, noses, and foreheads.

"Did you see that?" Óscar screamed in his ear. "Did you see that, you fucker?"

"I didn't just see that!" Kun answered, letting himself be pulled into a bear hug, "I damn well _did_ that, old man!"

He was too busy celebrating to catch Ferraro lower his shades. The team manager gestured to an assistant and then whispered something to them. The assistant nodded fervently, scribbling something down before dashing off.

At 10PM that night, right before dinner, the four of them -- Nicolás, Óscar, Leo, and himself -- were called to the director's office. At first Kun was nervous, but he reassured himself that Óscar was a goodie-two-shoes if there ever was a thing and anything which involved him couldn't be bad.

It wasn't bad, just unexpected.

Turns out Ferraro thought he and Leo had hit it off and recommended to Salorio that they start rooming together so as to deepen their bonds, both on the pitch and off. Kun swiveled over to look at Leo, but the other boy's expression was as guarded as ever. He looked instead at Óscar and then Nicolás, who looked similarly bemused with the sudden switch. But it wasn't like either of them were going to complain and it wasn't like Kun had any complaints (though he had gotten fond of Nicolás, loyalty to Emiliano notwithstanding) and so they made the switch. Kun moved his stuff into Leo's room and Óscar moved his stuff over to Nicolás'.

Leo was tucked away on the top bunk when he came in. Kun felt the other boy's gaze on him but Leo didn't say anything. He didn't have much to unpack, just his toothbrush and towel really, and when he was done, he looked up at Leo.

"Dinner?" he asked.

Leo nodded, scrambling down.

It was really cute, Kun thought, reminded of how Mauricio used to toddle after him. He ruffled Leo's hair and pulled him in for a quick hug. "You were fantastic today, kid," he added.

Leo flushed again before awkwardly returning the embrace.

"You too," he said.

"Okay, let's go eat," Kun declared, steering both of them towards the door, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving!"


	3. And of course I forgive I've seen how you live

Chapter 3  
 **And of course I forgive I've seen how you live**

After having known him for all of twenty-four hours, Leo could safely conclude Sergio Leonel "Kun" Aguero was a bundle of contradictions. He was reminded of his grandfather, who used to quote Hudson at every opportunity, and one line in particular. _Of all the people I've ever known, you're the only one I don't know_. When he first heard the quote, Leo thought it senseless. For how could someone know and yet not know another person? And then he met Kun. There were so many things he thought should be one way, because that's how things _were_ , but it wasn't. Not with him, at least.

For one, Kun was incredibly attractive. Leo recalled how the reporter for the first match had described Kun as babyfaced since he was only fifteen. But the camera hadn't zoomed in and Leo didn't get a good look and now here they were, seated side-by-side across from Ezequiel and Lautaro and he was horrified to discover he couldn't keep his eyes off of the other. From how his hair framed his eyes to the rich color of his skin, and this was to say nothing of his ever-present smile, his best feature by far.

He was thoroughly unnerved by his own reaction.

The other boy paid no heed to him, conversing rapidly with the other two, and Leo scrambled to think of something to day. The problem was, as soon as he had worked out some topical reply, the conversation had already shifted.

At last, it was a showdown between Ezequiel and Lautaro, Nike against Adidas, and Aguero (as Leo thought of him then) leaned back into his seat, chuckling at the exceedingly absurd arguments. Leo swallowed and with great effort, found his voice. It was practically hoarse and he was instantly embarrassed, but Aguero was looking at him at last, even if Lautaro was quick to disregard his advice.

Even as he wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust, he refused to drop the other boy's gaze. Aguero didn't look annoyed at his interjection at least, though he didn't look awed like the rest of them either.

Which led Leo to the second point: out of everyone else in the camp, Kun, uniquely, didn't know him. At all. To Kun, Leo wasn't the kid from Barcelona or the rugrat who scored the second goal in the match against Brazil. He was just a quiet kid who knew about shoes Ferraro had imported from the States. Maybe he should have been riled; Lautaro and Ezequiel certainly were. But he couldn't fault Kun, not when he was reaching out to shake hands and genuinely bashful and when he reached over to shake hands, he had to force himself from flinching for how _warm_ Kun was.

They switched from eating and chatting to warming up. Leo was disappointed that Kun went to stretch with Oscar, evidently not interested in making friends with _him_ and that disappointment fueled his own desire to show off to the other boy, to make him see what the rest of the team had always known.

And therein was point three: Kun was a really good player. The broadcasters didn't do his performance justice. It was like watching a dance, the way he controlled the ball, and Leo had to shake his head to snap out of it.

It was humiliating, that someone could outplay him. Not consistently, but that he could be outplayed at all.

The one consolation was that the surprise was reciprocated. Kun was looking at him now, truly looking at him, and even though it wasn't the awed frustration of the Brazilian players.

Surprise number four was when Kun strode up to Ferraro as if he were the head of the AFA himself and demanded to play on the same side as Leo.

Surprise number five was when Ferraro agreed.

Surprise number six was discovering they actually played really really well, when on the same side. It was exhilarating, it was incredible, it was like nothing he had experienced before. It was the first time he'd played with a forward his own size -- and someone who could shoot with their left foot to boot.

Every time they scored, Kun would hug him. He was so lost in the moment he didn't care that Leo froze up the first three times. It wasn't that he disliked it -- rather, he liked it too much.

This is better than an alfajore, he thought, when it was their fifth goal and he had finally worked up the nerve to hug Kun back. He was distinctly aware of the rest of the team staring at them but he hadn't realized how distant they made him out to be until then.

After that practice match, Leo was filled with a singular desire: to bring the other boy back with him so that they could play every match together. Ferraro and Salorio pre-empted this by having them room together. He was secretly thrilled to be spending additional time in Kun's company, though he was careful not to let it show, lest Oscar get offended. Looking back, it seemed Oscar and Nicolas were more enthused about the change in roommates. It made sense, Leo thought, since both of them played the same position and all.

The surprise soon bled way to frustration.

For one, Leo understood Kun didn't know much (or well anything) about him, but he assumed the other would talk to some of the other players instead of sticking to his own extremely wrong assumptions.

The most annoying one -- and the one that Leo made sure to stomp out ASAP -- was the idea that he was _younger_ than Kun.

-

"When is your birthday?" Leo demanded, wanting to settle this matter once and for all.

"The day after tomorrow," Kun replied.

Leo swung over the barrier, hanging upside down to look at the other.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why're you asking?"

"Then you're not even seventeen?"

" _You're_ not even seventeen," Kun retorted, rolling his eyes.

"I'm going to be eighteen on the twenty-fourth," Leo shot back.

This snapped Kun into attention. His eyes grew wide and he sat up.

"No way!" he exclaimed. "But -- but you're so small! And short!"

"Doesn't matter when I'm practically a year older than you," Leo preened, taking no offense.

"No way. You can't expect me to believe that," Kun insisted.

"Doesn't make it wrong."

"NO WAY," Kun repeated, shaking his head, "You're like, thirteen, fourteen at most." And then when Leo pulled himself back and clambered down from his bunk, going to root through his bag, Kun jumped to the wrong conclusion and quickly followed him, "I didn't mean it like that," he tried, "But seriously, there is no way --"

Was it wrong to feel so smug over something that had no relation to football? Probably, but it didn't stop Leo from grinning at Kun's slackened expression when he saw Leo's identity card.

"Oh my god," he gasped, staggering back. He collapsed onto his bed with a breathy moan, pressing the back of his hand to his head. "My entire life has been a lie!" Then he sat up and giggled and Leo couldn't help it, he started laughing too, and just like that, both of them broke out in boyish laughter.

"It's not so bad," Kun conceded, when they were lying in their respective bunks, "I always wanted an older brother. At least _he_ wouldn't have paraded me around in dresses."

With significant effort, Leo tore his mind from the idea of Kun in a dress.

"I've always wanted a younger brother," he said instead. Luckily, Kun didn't seem to notice his croaking.

"But you've got older brothers?" he asked.

"Two of them."

"How's it like?"

"Nice, I guess?" Rodrigo and Matias were older than him by seven and five years respectively so while they were close, the age difference prevented the teasing and bullying that seemed endemic to, say, Emanuel and Maximiliano's relationship. In fact, Rodrigo and Matias normally teased each other and babied Leo.

"Man, I'm jealous!" Kun declared, "My older sister is barely a year older than me but the way she acts, you'd think she was around before the stars in the sky!"

"What about your younger siblings?"

"Adorable spoiled brats, the lot of them," Kun answered. Leo felt his throat clench up for how thick Kun's voice was laid with affection then. Kun continued with: "And do they listen to their wonderful older brother? No! It's always," and here, he affected a falsetto: "'Yesica says this', or 'That's not how Yesica does it'. Argh!"

Kun shifted on the lower bunk, knocking his foot against the slats of the top.

"What about you?" he prompted.

"What about me?"

"Are you the baby in your family too?" His tone was playful but Leo was riled all the same.

"First, if anyone is the baby here, it's you. Second, I have a younger sister."

"Is she taller than you?"

"Fuck you."

"That's not a no!"

-

The other things which annoyed Leo stretched on to infinity but annoyances two through four (maybe five) were bundled up so tight, they all led to the same conclusion: Kun did not, under any circumstance, want to play football with him in Barcelona.

"No thanks," Kun said, when Leo proposed the idea one evening. It was the night before Kun's birthday with half an hour 'till midnight.

"Excuse me?" Leo answered, uncertain if he'd heard right.

"Like, I'm sure it's great and all," Kun admitted, "But it's not for me."

And like that, Leo swung over the divider again, peering down at the other boy. He was listening to cumbia on his Walkman with the headphones tilted so that his left ear was uncovered.

"What do you mean 'it's not for you'?" Leo asked.

"One second," Kun held up a finger and Leo pulled himself back up, clambering down and sitting on the bottom bunk. Kun was humming quietly, nodding his head to the song. It finished soon enough and he pressed pause, taking his headphones off and turning his full attention to Leo.

"Look," Kun started, "I don't want you to get offended -- "

"Why would I be offended?"

"You look like you want to feed me my intestines, for one."

Leo faltered. "I do not," he lamely answered, trying to rearrange his features into something less intense. It was impossible, how the heck was he supposed to react when Kun had just spat on his dreams of their future together like that!

Kun laughed and reached over, patting him on the cheek. Leo grabbed his wrist, not in the mood to be mollified.

"Tell me," he demanded.

The other boy sighed, pulling his hand back. "It's just," he started, looking away, "I don't know if I want to go pro."

"What are you talking about? You've _already_ gone pro!"

"Yeah, that's the thing," Kun pressed, "But I play football because I love it -- "

"You think I _don't_ love it?" Leo countered.

"Not as much as me," Kun answered without missing a beat. He was grinning and soon enough Leo was grinning too.

"You absolute bastard," he swore. "Keep going."

"It's still just a hobby for me," Kun admitted.

"But you play in the Primera Divisiòn!" Leo protested, "You support your family with it!"

"Yeah, but if I didn't have football, I'd still help out. You think Yesica doesn't support the rest of them?" Leo's nostrils flared in outrage, though he was too busy reeling from the one-two punch of rejection and then dismissal to formulate a coherent reply. In the interim, Kun sighed, reaching for him again.

"Hey," he said, "I read up about you. About what you did, all those years ago."

Leo laughed harshly, not wanting to dwell on those days. "It wasn't that long ago."

"Still. It was amazing. I can't imagine it, you know? I mean, here we are, going to the Netherlands next week, and even though it's less than a month, all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss this."

"This?"

"Home."

Leo shrugged the other boy's hand from his shoulder.

"You think I don't miss home?" he challenged.

"It's not like that," Kun insisted. "But we're different people. The stuff you did, all by yourself so far away, I don't think I could do it. I don't I'd _want_ to be able to do it."

You wouldn't be alone though, Leo wanted to say. He was interrupted with the beep of the timer he himself had set.

"Happy birthday," he said instead.

Kun smiled at that, reaching over to hug him. Leo returned the gesture, kissing the other boy's cheek, and just like that, their argument was behind them. As he was climbing back up to his own bunk, he saw that Kun was putting his headphones on again.

"You're not going to listen to that all night, are you?" Leo asked. If his hands weren't gripping the rungs, they would have been on his hips.

"Okay Papi," Kun answered, rolling his eyes. Leo caught the quirk of his lips though, right as he was clambering underneath his own blankets, and when he closed his eyes and thought of it, his heart skipped a beat.

-

Though the other boy was nothing short of _vexing_ at times, Leo couldn't not be affected by him. This held true, even even when Kun managed to beat him in a face-off. It wasn't like Leo hadn't lost head-to-head in possession of the ball before, but he had never lost so consistently. A petulant part of him insisted that it was all because of how distracting Kun was, with his wide smile and skin that literally glistened under the early winter sun. But this was an excuse and nothing more, for in his heart of hearts, he knew that Kun, uniquely had a one in ten -- maybe even one in five -- chance of outplaying _him_. And yes, it wasn't a very high chance, but it was higher than anyone else Leo had ever seen and Kun was younger than him and sometimes he just thought it wasn't fair, that the other was such an all-rounder he could have easily been a professional model or comedian (or in Kun's more delusional fantasies, a cumbia dancer). And here he was, the youngest person on the national team, the only one among them that was fielded in the first squad on a regular basis, and he made it look so easy.

And Kun was an easy person to like. Everyone liked him, Leo included, though Leo liked to think _he_ liked Kun the most. After three days of being stuck at the hip, people had stopped looking at him like he had grown a second head whenever he laughed in public because of one of Kun's impressions. Indeed, everyone else seemed to take it as granted that they were now the closest of friends. Salorio especially, bless his wizened heart, was openly relieved, ruffling Leo's hair and telling him how good it was, that he had finally found a friend.

It followed then -- as all illogical statements followed whenever Kun was concerned -- that Kun was the only one who didn't understand this. After the first match they played together, he didn't ask Ferraro to keep them on the same team and so they played on separate sides for the next three days. On one hand, Leo was thrilled at the proper competition. On the other hand, it was pure torture watching Kun hug his temporary teammates whenever they scored. He understood Kun was a physical person and that it was a great feat, to be able to steal the ball from _him_ and get it into the goal, but did he need to be so public it about it? Leo's temporary teammates, in contrast, knew better than to drag him along into their group hugs, which led to Kun looking at him curiously at the end of every match as Leo stood apart from his celebrating team.

Things came to a head during lunch, when they were all gathered around the canteen to properly celebrate Kun's seventeenth birthday. Though it wasn't as big a deal as, say, the fifteenth, it was still a good excuse to eat cake and be merry. Kun really hadn't expected anything, such was his way, and he was grinning from ear-to-ear when the head cook brought out the white chocolate cake topped with strawberries and a single candle. Leo was seated next to him and they both smiled at the cameraman (Kun struck his trademark pose). Then the candle was lit, the lights were turned off and the curtains were drawn. As one, they started singing the birthday song and Kun reached over, squeezing Leo's hand.

Leo was then forced to watch as everyone came up, offering their congratulations to the birthday boy. Most of the other boys hugged Kun, though some kissed him on the forehead or cheek. All of the closeness he had been building up was overtaken in a matter of minutes and no one seemed to think anything of it!

Kun was still beaming as he cut the cake. He handed Leo the first slice.

"Woah woah woah," Pablo cautioned, "Save some for the rest of us, eh?"

"Keep talking like that and you won't get any at all," Kun chided, "Besides, Leo needs it more than we do." He said this, but still cut the second slice for Pablo. Most of the other boys wanted a slice too, save for Oscar who didn't like sweets and Juan who was allergic. Salorio indulged while Ferraro abstained. At the end, there were only crumbs left for the birthday boy.

Leo, who was a third done with his slice, set his fork down and pushed his plate towards Kun.

Kun looked as if Leo had given him Maradona's cleats.

"Are you sure?" he asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Eat it," Leo mumbled, "It's your cake."

The other boys teased them but Kun just flipped them the finger, diving eagerly into the cake, and Leo watched, happy his friend was happy but somewhat offput with the realization that he could be so _affected_ by something that wasn't football.

When they were done with dessert, they sang the birthday song a second time before taking a group photo. Then it was back to the pitch where, surprise surprise, Ferraro had the two of them on separate sides and again, Leo fought tooth and nail to minimize the other side's possession and again, Kun triumphed at a nonzero percentage, enough so that the score was 3-2 (in Leo's favor, of course) at the end.

It didn't matter that they had lost; Kun was so happy to have scored the second goal at 85 minutes, he grabbed onto Ezequiel, wrapping him in a bear hug, and Leo watched as their other teammates piled on top.

Kun crawled out from underneath the dog pile, looking as if he'd won the lottery, and went over to Leo, no doubt to congratulate him on his win.

But Leo wasn't in the mood to be hugged. He stepped back as Kun approached. Confusion flashed briefly over Kun's face before he tried to close the distance but Leo preempted the movement, pushing him back with a huff. He then shirked off his outer jersey before stomping away.

He took a shower to cool off. When he exited the bathroom, he found Kun sitting on the lower bunk. For once, the other boy wasn't listening to his Walkman.

"Hey," Kun greeted.

Leo glared at him in response, striding past him and climbing up to his own bed.

"Hey!" As usual, Kun did his own thing. In this case, it meant following Leo up so that they were both perched on the top bunk.

"Go away," Leo grumbled, weakly pushing at the other.

"I don't want to."

"Well _I_ want you to."

"And guess who's the birthday boy, eh?" Kun grinned cheekily before his expression sobered and reached out, touching Leo's shoulder. "Hey, I get that you're angry, but are you going to tell me why?"

Leo shrugged his hand off again, averting his gaze. "No."

Kun pouted, clasping his hands together underneath his chin.

"Please?" he tried.

"No."

"But Leooo," Kun whined, leaning close so that Leo was forced to look him in the eye, "It's my birthday today." A flush was working its way into Leo's cheeks; he chose to ignore it and weakly moved to push Kun's face away.

"I know," Leo ground out, "Happy Birthday."

"It would be the best gift ever," Kun insisted.

"Telling you why I'm mad at you."

"Yes!"

It was impossible to be angry at the other for a long time, and even more difficult when Kun was practically pressed up against him, gazing soulfully into Leo's eyes.

"You're so weird," Leo grumbled, pushing him away. But because there was affection in his tone, Kun let himself be pushed away, laughing quietly.

"That's why you're angry? Because I'm weird?"

"No."

"Then why? C'mon Leo, tell me. I promise _I_ won't get mad."

In true Aguerian fashion (a word Leo had made up on the spot but would go on to use with exceeding regularity in the following years), Kun spoke up _right_ as Leo was about to come clean. He clapped his hands together and interrupted Leo's not-quite confession with: "Oh shoot, I totally forgot!"

"...What?"

"Actually," how Kun was able to switch from playful to serious at the drop of a hat was another thing Leo would never get used to, "There _is_ something else you could do for me. Something I would like a lot more than this." He gestured at the space between the two of them, quick as usual in understanding Leo's moods.

"What?" Leo asked again, caught off guard.

"Will you do it?" Kun asked.

"What is it?"

"Will you do it, though."

"How can I tell you if I'll do it if you won't even tell me what it is?"

"Because it's a birthday wish," Kun wheedled. He clasped his hands together and gave Leo his most imploring look. "Please, Leo? It's nothing bad, I promise."

"If it's not anything bad why don't you just... oh alright," Leo huffed, disgusted with how easily he came around to Kun's side.

Kun cheered, leaning over to hug him.

"Well?" Leo demanded, though he still hugged Kun back.

"Oh right. Okay, well," Kun backed off, scratching his cheek, "Now I feel kinda weird asking, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way but -- " Kun trailed off then.

With a lead-up like that, Leo's mind filled in the blank with the worst possible scenarios. _I'm kinda weirded out by your moodiness_ or _I don't like rooming with you_ were the top candidates.

"But?" Leo repeated.

"Well," Kun took a breath and then took Leo's hands, squeezing lightly more for himself than Leo, "The next time Lucas or Nereo... or anyone really... the next time they pass to you and you score a goal, do you think you could hug them?"

"...What?"

"Like, I know it's not your thing, but it'd mean a lot to the rest of them."

This was how it always was: they were on the same page but reading totally different things. Leo saw the hopefulness in Kun's eyes and remembered that he _had_ just promised to do whatever the other boy wanted. Plus, it wasn't that bad anyways. So he sighed, squeezing Kun's hands.

"Alright," he relented, "I'll do it."

Kun cheered again, hugging him tight.

"Thank you," he said, turning his head to kiss Leo's cheek. Leo flushed and gave a snort of faked discontentment. "Okay then, what say we go back?" Because Leo had stormed out of afternoon practice, right.

And so the two of them went back. Ferraro shouted at them a bit and made them wait on the bleachers while the current practice match finished. They sat side-by-side, thick-as-thieves, whispering jokes into each other's ears. And then the whistle blew and there was a half-hour break before another practice match started. Kun and Leo were on separate teams again and at fifteen minutes, when Leo scored off of a pass from Lautaro, true to his word, he went over to hug the other player. Lautaro froze to the spot when Leo wrapped his arms about him; he was taller and wider than Kun, as were all the other boys. There was a beat, and then the rest of their team sprinted over, and Leo realized, though he still preferred hugging Kun, being close with the rest of the team was valuable in its own right.

Which just went to show, even though Kun was a carefree idiot with boatloads ideas that were just plain wrong, he still managed to turn Leo's world on its side more often than not. Leo couldn't tell if this was a point for or against him and just settled with exasperated acceptance. It was after all his main reaction to all of Kun's oddities.


	4. Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes

Chapter 4  
 **Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes**

People were the product of their times. This was a fact Kun knew well. Take himself, for example: beneath his jester-like exterior was an almost brutal realism, the result of an early childhood spent in what would later be known as the slums. Because it was all he knew, he didn't know how tight times had been until after IMG had moved them into the city proper. It was still a wonder, that they could afford to eat meat with every meal, to say nothing of the improved sleeping conditions. Hell, when Daiana and Mayra had been born, they were each given a brand-new crib -- an unthinkable luxury in his own childhood.

Even though they had escaped the worst of it, along with the rest of the country, the poverty stayed with him. It stayed with his mother and father and older sister too, and every once in a while, he'd catch Gaby picking plastic bottles out of trash cans even though they hadn't needed the money from them in years. The younger four couldn't imagine what it was like and for that, Kun was grateful.

But it was because of this poverty that he was such a good-natured person. Even when some bureaucrat had snapped their fingers, thus nullifying their (admittedly paltry) savings in the aftermath of the 2001 bank run, the sun still rose. His parents somehow scrounged up enough for three square meals, even if they were lacking in flavor more often than not. Humor wasn't so much a coping mechanism as it was a defiant reaction. So what if everything they had had been lost? So what if they were kicked out of their house? There was still joy to be had, and there always would be.

In truth, his heart had skipped a beat when Leo suggested the idea of moving to Barcelona. The image of himself, playing alongside the other in Spain had bubbled up and it had been a tempting one. But his realistic streak would not allow him to indulge in it.

After meeting Leo, Kun was certain of two things. First, that he was a better player than Kun, like, ninety percent of the time. And second, that he would go on to have a professional career. Kun loved football, of that there was no doubt, and if God gave him the opportunity, he would surely pursue it to the highest levels. But it wasn't like Leo, who lived and breathed the sport and didn't seem to like anything besides being on the pitch with the ball beneath his feet.

For instance, every boy in Argentina wanted to be the new Maradona. Kun still did, even if he denied it in interviews. But Maradona had been retired for nearly a decade -- more if they were talking of the international stage -- and there was still no one to fill his shoes. And what became of the champions of yore, of Pena, Biagini, or Romeo? Yes, they made names for themselves, but could they hold a candle to Maradona? There was Riquelme, yes, but even he had said time and again it was positively heretical to speak of him and Maradona in the same sentence. Kun knew his own chances were even slimmer; fifteen year old debut or no.

As a result of this certainty that they would end up in terribly different places, Kun did his best to keep Leo... well, not entirely at arm's length, that would be too much, but he took it as a personal challenge that Leo should be friends with the rest of their team by the time they flew off. This was a rousing success as evidenced by the massive group hugs that took place whenever Leo scored a goal, and Kun was happy for it. It didn't stop Leo from sticking to him like a burr off the pitch though.

What was important to stress was that Kun _liked_ Leo. He liked him a lot, even. It was terribly flattering that, out of all the boys there, Leo had picked _him_ to hang out with. And he was relieved too, that there was someone his own age (and size! and height!) at the camp, so it wasn't like at the locker room in Independiente where everyone called him a baby and squeezed his cheeks, peppering his face with kisses as if he were six and not sixteen (now seventeen!).

The key was: he didn't like Leo -- or even football -- enough to leave his family behind.

But even after Kun had made this point clear, Leo still sought out his company. Not once did he bring up the idea of Barcelona and so Kun relaxed. It was nice, he could admit, having an older brother (even if Leo was smaller and shorter -- hell, maybe one day Gaston would outgrow him). They talked every night after the lights went out and though Leo was grumpy and sleepy, he patiently answered Kun's questions, regardless of how inane they were.

-

Case one: the day after Kun's birthday

As Kun took off his headphones and turned off the Walkman, a thought occurred to him.

"Leo?" he asked into the nebulous darkness above him.

There was no answer.

"Leo?" he tried again, a little louder.

The mattress creaked as Leo turned over.

"What is it?" he asked, clearly woken from slumber.

"What's your favorite kind of music?"

"What? Why?"

"Just curious. We're in last and second-to-last place in Salorio's rankings so I'm guessing it's not cuartetazo or opera, eh?"

Leo didn't say anything for so long (or what felt like so long but was probably a minute tops) Kun wondered if he had fallen asleep again. Right as he was about to leave the other be, because it was pretty late, he was sure, the other answered in a voice so quiet, it was like he was ashamed to like anything other than football.

"I like cumbia too."

"No way!" Kun laughed, "You too? Who's your favorite? Why didn't you tell me? We could have been singing and dancing together all this time!"

"Kun, it's late."

"Just tell me your favorite song."

There followed another minute-long pause.

"Para vivir -- " Leo started.

"Un gran amor?" Kun finished. _To live for a great love._ It was a duo from Castaña and Agostini released the year before. Kun was surprised that Leo was able to keep up with the current trends, what with being so far away and all. Did they play cumbia in Spain too? That was a question for another day.

"Yeah."

"Awww, that's cute. It suits you well."

"Shut up."

"Okay, okay," Kun grinned, not caring that Leo couldn't see him. "Good night."

"...Night."

-

Case two: the day after that

The following evening, Kun was pleasantly surprised to discover there was no point indoctrinating Leo in the wonders of cumbia because his own knowledge of the genre was already damn impressive. Something to do with being from the birthplace of cumbia, no doubt. Anyways, so it turned out Leo could hum along to more songs than him (even though there were no cumbia stations in Barcelona; Leo apparently kept up with it through his family and the internet), though Kun insisted he danced better.

It was only when the assistant came around checking all the rooms to make sure they had their lights out that Leo climbed back up into his own bunk.

This time, when Kun called for him, Leo answered immediately. Kun wondered if the other was waiting for it.

"What?"

"What would you be, if you weren't a footballer?"

"I don't know."

"Well think about it."

And so Leo thought about it. After a minute or so, he answered with: "A football coach, I guess."

"Kinda missing the point here," Kun whined.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, what if you couldn't do anything related to football? What if you lived in a world that didn't have football?"

"Does this world have futsal?"

"NO."

"Hmmm..." Leo blew a raspberry and Kun imagined him either rolling his eyes or running his hand through his bangs, no doubt exasperated at being saddled with such an inquisitive younger sibling. "I'd be a cattle herder, I guess."

"A cattle herder?" Kun guffawed. "You'd be bucked off your horse and stampeded to death!"

"I happen to come from a long line of cattle herders," Leo sniffed, "I'm sure it's in my blood somewhere."

"Sure thing boludo."

"Whatever."

With Kun's curiosity satisfied, he closed his eyes, prepared to drift off to sleep. Except then Leo was the one asking.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Kun repeated.

"What would you be?"

"In this theoretical world without football?"

"Yeah."

Kun, too, had to think on it a while. It was weird, because even though he constantly told himself there was no way he was going to be lucky enough to play football his whole life, he hadn't really thought of what he would do when football wasn't an option. Finally, he blew a raspberry too, laughing: "Who comes up with these dumb questions?"

"Who indeed," Leo yawned. "But you still haven't answered."

"I don't know," Kun clicked the back of his tongue, "A teacher, I guess?"

"What would you teach?"

"English."

"...Do you _know_ any English?"

"Not a word. Hey, don't laugh, I can totally learn, okay! I mean, I'd have to learn to be a teacher, right?" Leo kept chuckling at that and Kun pouted. "Shut up," he sniffed, "I'd make a great teacher. And then me and my students would visit you on your ranch and we'd talk to each other in English and you wouldn't understand a thing."

"And then my cattle would stampede you."

"Oh!" Kun clutched at his chest, "You wound me so!"

Both of them burst out into giggles, only stopping when the night guard rapped on their door.

"Go to sleep!" the voice on the other side hissed, "It's already past midnight!"

"Your fault," Kun hissed.

"No, it's your fault."

"Night."

"Night."

-

Case three: and the night after that

It became something like tradition, even though it was only three nights (and counting). After dinner (which they sat down together for, of course), they would go to the office to email and call their families. Then they would go back to their room and listen to cumbia for half an hour or however long it was 'till eleven o'clock passed by and all the lights were turned off.

"Leo?"

"Hm?"

"What is Barcelona like?"

"Are you interested in going there?"

"Not on your life. I'm just curious."

"Oh."

"Well? What's it like?"

"It's really different," Leo admitted. "Everything's different," he started, and then couldn't really stop: "The streets are brighter, the days are shorter, summer and winter are flipped, if I talk fast they can't understand what I'm saying and even if I slow down sometimes they don't understand and they speak Catalan, which I don't know, and everything's cheaper but actually more expensive. Like, a normal dinner is maybe twenty euros and I thought that was dirt cheap but it's actually like five hundred pesos which is insane, isn't it?"

"Sounds awful," Kun nodded; this was the most Leo had said to him in a single breath. "So now I need to ask: why on earth do you want to drag _me_ there?"

"Well, I mean, it's not that bad. I don't dislike it there." Leo was quick to defend, "The city is right by the ocean so there's lots of fish. The people are really nice and the football is good too. Like, football is their life. You think it's a big deal in Argentina, well it's not. Not compared to Spain."

Kun was heartened to hear Leo speak highly of his main residence; he didn't like to imagine the other being miserable so far away from home. Hell, maybe in time he would even come to think of Barcelona as home. Maybe it'd be for the best.

"I'm glad you like it there," he said, hoping Leo could hear the smile in his tone.

"Thanks," Leo answered, and there was a smile in his tone too. "I hope I can show you it someday. It's really pretty."

"Don't count on it."

"Why not? I mean, we're going to Holland next week. It's not that far away."

"Good night Leo."

"Fine," Leo huffed, in a tone that meant it wasn't the end of this discussion. "Good night."

-

The following night marked Kun's fourth night as a seventeen-year-old and was also two nights before their families would arrive for the send-off. His mother had written him a long email about the importance of family and responsibility which basically boiled down to: no man is good enough for your older sister so you're going to have to settle down first! Typical Yesica, Kun thought.

The thing was, although he wanted to get married and start a family, he didn't want either _right this minute_. He knew that at his age, his parents had already had Yesica and he was already in his mother's belly, but he wished they didn't expect the same of him.

"Hey Leo, how many kids do you want?" he asked as soon as the lights were turned out.

Leo made an spluttering noise.

"What the heck brought _that_ up?!" he demanded.

"My mom."

"What'd she say?"

"The usual mom stuff. How she wants grandkids _now_ and all that."

"Oh."

"Well?" Kun pressed, after a moment of silence. "How many do you want? Or better yet, how many do your parents want from you?"

"I don't know," and then, because Leo was getting clever, he turned the tables to buy himself some time, "How about you? How many kids do _you_ want?"

"At least ten," Kun answered without missing a beat.

"Ten!"

"Mm-hm. I want us to be a football team. I mean, I guess if my wife plays too then we'll only need nine. I'll be goalie when they're younger of course."

"Of course." Leo echoed and then paused. "...Did you tell your mom this?"

"Hell no!" Kun scoffed, "If she knew, she'd want me to get started now! I mean, I'm not even twenty, you know? Let me have a little fun."

"If anything you're having too much fun," Leo grumbled.

"Oh not you too," Kun groaned, "What a boring older brother you are!"

"Don't you know it."

Kun was not to be deterred though. "Well?" he pressed, when they lapsed into silence, "What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"That's 'cause you never really think about anything other than football."

"It's not just that," Leo protested.

"How do you mean?"

"Well..." he paused, thinking it over. "It's like, Rodrigo -- my oldest brother -- already has two boys and his wife is pregnant with the third, and Matias -- my second brother -- just got married. So no one's really talked to me about these things, you know?"

"Oh yeah, there's not so much pressure on you. Lucky." Leo chuckled at that but said nothing so Kun continued with: "But still! Surely you've thought of it a little, after seeing your adorable nephews?"

"I don't know. Maybe one, I guess."

"Just one?" Kun repeated, outraged.

"Kun, having kids is a lot of work. They're always crying, even when nothing's wrong. Rodrigo and Gabriella -- that's my sister-in-law -- are always tired, and this is even with my mom helping out."

"That's not like you," Kun noted. " _I'm_ supposed to be the lazy one here."

Leo was silent for a long time. Kun was about to wish him good night when he spoke up.

"I guess I'm a little scared. That I won't have time to be a good dad. Or that even if I have the time, I won't be a good dad." Kun burst into peals of laughter at that, and there was, like clockwork, rapping on their door.

"Quiet down you two!"

"Sorry!" both of them chorused.

"Your fault," Leo whispered.

"My bad," Kun admitted. He giggled quietly to himself, covering his mouth with his hand.

"I can still hear you, you know," Leo grumbled.

"Sorry. It's just... I don't know what to say, but I have a feeling you'd be a good dad. You're a good older brother, at least."

"Hooray."

"You asshole," Kun pouted, "And here I was set to name my second son after you."

"What were you going to call your firstborn son?"

"Leonel, after my dad."

"Wouldn't that get really confusing?"

"Yeah, so it's probably a good thing you're such a jerk, so I don't need to name the second one after you." Leo cracked up that, and Kun got the giggles too.

"Aguero! Messi!" the assistant barked behind the door.

"Sorry!"

"If I have to shout at you a third time..."

"Your fault," Kun whispered, pointing a finger into the darkness.

"Good night," Leo shot back.

"Fine. Night."

Right as Kun was drifting off however, Leo spoke.

"Kun?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, boludo."

-

It was with Leo's upcoming birthday in-mind that Kun had asked next night's question. Leo probably didn't know, but when he showed his ID card, Kun had taken the liberty of seeing his birthday. And even though what he wanted from Leo was for his own good, a gift was still a gift and Kun wanted to return the gesture.

"If you could ask for anything in the world, what would it be?" Kun asked, the night before their families were due to arrive.

"For you to go to sleep," was Leo's immediate reply.

Kun lifted his leg and, with effort, kicked at the top bunk.

"Hey!"

"C'mon, be serious."

Leo muttered something about annoying younger siblings that had no appreciation for a proper eight hours of sleep while Kun patiently waited.

"You first."

"But I asked first."

"And I don't know off the top of my head. What about you?"

It was Kun's turn to huff about the unfairness of it all. He pursed his lips and thought about it. If there was anything in the world, anything he could have, what would it be?

An oddly patriotic wish came up and he voiced it.

"I want Argentina to get a third star."

There was a pause and then Leo broke out in quiet laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny about that," Kun complained.

"I'm not laughing at your wish," Leo answered, when his giggles had died down, "Well, I mean, I guess a little. But you're always telling me I'm obsessed with football, and here you are with a dream like this!"

"Okay, first off, I didn't say you were obsessed with football, if anything I said _I_ like football more than you."

"But you think of other things."

"And you should too! And second..." Kun trailed off, trying to remember his second point. "And second, I'll bet you anything your dream has something to do with football too."

"You're not wrong," Leo admitted.

"So you finally thought of something? Tell me."

"No, let's talk about your wish first. A third star, hmm? Wouldn't that mean you'd have to play on the national team?"

"You make it sound like I wouldn't watch if we were in the finals."

"Would you?"

"Of course! What kind of heathen do you think I am?" So he didn't spend all his free time with his eyes glued to the television, big deal. He had watched Maradona and Pele and Ronaldo; hell, he had even watched Ronaldo play during a live broadcast!

"But you wouldn't be playing."

"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't," Kun shrugged, "I'd like to, of course, don't get me wrong. But it's more important that we win than that I get to play."

"Do you think we'll win next year?"

"Nah, Brazil's got it in the bag." And when Leo laughed again, Kun added: "C'mon, do you really think anyone can stand up to Mr. Phenomenal? He can dribble past the whole team, no sweat."

"Maradona or Ronaldo?" Leo countered.

"Maradona, of course."

"Maradona or Pele?" Leo asked again.

"Still Maradona."

"Biased much?"

"What would _you_ say?"

"Same as you."

"There you go."

"Still," Leo sighed, "A third title, huh? Pretty big dreams for someone who isn't sure about going pro."

"Enough about my wish," Kun grated, "Tell me yours. C'mon. I won't laugh, even if it doesn't have anything to do with football."

"Why is that not reassuring?"

"Because you're an asshole. C'mon, tell."

Leo heaved another much-belabored sigh before answering. "I wish things had ended better with Newell's."

"Newell's Old Boys?"

"Yeah."

"Your old club?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

Kun knew Leo wasn't a talkative fellow, which was all the more reason to enjoy their midnight chats. He also knew Leo didn't like to dwell on the past, presumably because of the tumultuous times he had gone through. It warmed his heart and endeared Leo to him even more, that he would open up to Kun like this. The funny thing about Leo was that, as seen in his criticism and praise of Barcelona, once he got going he didn't (or couldn't) stop.

"I don't remember the details, because it was... well, because they didn't really talk to me, just my parents. But it came down to the money, which Newell's didn't have. So we went to River Plate, which pissed them off, but River Plate couldn't take me either. At this time, Newell's got a new director who had seen some tapes and was willing to sign for me, but we had already flown to Barcelona. And now it's like," Messi drew a sharp breath and Kun flinched at the sound, "It's like they hate me."

"That can't be true," Kun reasoned. "The whole country was in a bad situation then. They couldn't blame you."

"They kicked my whole family out of the club," Messi answered. His voice was cold and collected and somehow, that stung more than the choked sob. "They ripped our membership cards and told my mother she wasn't -- well, that she couldn't watch their matches anymore."

"That's insane. Do you know why?"

"They think I'm a traitor. That I was planning on signing on with Barcelona from the get-go."

"But you still miss them."

There was another sharp breath and then: "Yes."

"Man," Kun sighed, "That's some fucked-up shit there. I'm sorry you had to go through that. But, I mean, if you still like them, hell, if you still want to go back, there's nothing wrong with that."

"You don't get it. _They_ don't want _me_ back."

"'Cause whoever's in charge there is an idiot. But directors come and go, managers and players too. If you keep playing like you do in Barcelona, or wherever, I promise you someday, Newell's will come begging you to play for them."

Leo gave a watery laugh. "That's what my dad said too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Kun laughed, "I only said it 'cause it sounded like something my dad would say, so I guess we've got that in common too, huh?"

"Does your dad manage stuff for you too?"

"No. He taught me how to play though."

"Oh. That's pretty cool. Was he pro?"

"Back in the day for some small leagues. I'm way better than him, of course."

Leo laughed properly at that. "I'm way better than my dad too."

"I guess they'll be pretty proud of us, eh?"

"Maybe."

"For sure." Kun paused and then asked a second question: "Do you want to meet my family? When they come tomorrow, I mean."

"Of course," Leo answered. "I don't know why you'd need to ask. I'll be introducing _my_ family to my new baby brother too, by the way."

"Cool." He paused, and then added: "Fair warning though, I'm going to piss my pants laughing if your sister actually is taller than you."

"Hah hah hah very funny."

"Oh my god. Is she actually?"

"Shut up. Good night."

"Night!"


	5. Strange how this journey's hurting

Chapter 5  
 **Strange how this journey's hurting**

By dint of living half an hour (minus traffic) from the training camp proper, Kun's family was one of the first to arrive on the sending-off day. It felt like the crack of dawn -- most likely because they had talked about dreams into the early hours of the day -- though it was already half past ten. Regardless, Leo was bright-eyed and suitably enthused at the thought of seeing his own family again.

Kun dragged him from the canteen to the parking lot when one of the assistants told him his family had arrived. And so Leo was present when Kun was tackled by a suitably rotund woman who only reached Kun's shoulder but nonetheless grabbed him by the head and pressed his face to hers.

"Oh my poor baby!" she -- Mrs. Aguero, no doubt -- declared, "What have they been feeding you here? You're as thin as a stick!"

"Mom, you're embarrassing me," Kun whined.

"You think this is bad?" A teenage girl grumbled, "While we were leaving it was -- "

"Yesica, hush," Mrs. Aguero interjected, "Don't ruin this moment."

"Where's Dad?" Kun asked, still bundled in his mother's arms.

"Parking the car, what do you think?"

As if on cue, there was an earsplitting squeal. Leo watched as a middle-aged man who could only be Kun's father walked over with two daughters on each arm and two sons and a daughter at the front. It was a bit overwhelming, seeing everyone suddenly pile onto the other boy. Kun was evidently used to such displays, ducking out of his mother's grasp to catch ahold of his younger sister. She gave a whoop of delight as he tossed her up into the air.

"Gaby!" he exclaimed, "Oh my god, every time I see you you've grown up more! You need to stop!"

"We missed you soooo much!" Gaby answered, wrapping her arms around Kun's neck and kissing his cheek.

"You're exaggerating," one the boys said, "It's not like he was gone for that long, anyways."

"It feels like it's been ages though," the second boy added.

"Awww," Kun sighed, setting down his sister and going over to his father. He kissed his youngest sisters on the forehead before hugging both his brothers. "I missed you all too."

The scene brought up a warm wet feeling in Leo's chest. In a matter of hours, he knew Kun would be treated to a similar scene. And he knew Kun's younger brother was right, that Kun hadn't been away for long, but he couldn't help smiling at the reunion.

As soon as he smiled, Kun turned back to him.

"Oh right!" Kun said, pulling back and walking over to Leo. He slung an arm over Leo's shoulder, grinning from ear-to-ear, "This is Leo, my new older brother! We're teammates and roommates and even though he played for Newell's, he's not actually that bad!"

"Nice to meet you," Leo tacked on at the end of it. And like that, he seemed to have given implicit permission to be consumed by the mob.

"Aren't you just the most precious thing!" Mrs. Aquero declared, pinching his cheeks. "So pale and skinny though!"

"Are you actually older than Kun though?" one of the boys asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you really play for Newell's?" -- was all Kun's other brother was interested in.

"You guys are actually friends, right?" Yesica demanded, "He didn't just barge into your room one day and set up shop there?"

"Where is your family?"

"What team do you play for now?"

"Does Kun still snore in his sleep?"

"What _are_ they feeding you here?"

"Guys!" Kun shouted, right as Leo was feeling overwhelmed, "Be quiet for a minute while I introduce you. Okay," he turned to Leo, "Are you paying attention? Because I'm only going to say this once!" And then, in Aguerian fashion, he dove right into it: "This is Adriana, my mom. Leonel, my dad. Yesica, my -- " Yesica cracked her knuckles and Kun gulped, laughing nervously, "My beautiful talented and extremely kind older sister!" Yesica flashed a brilliantly white smile and Leo was sufficiently dazzled (and terrified). "And this over here is Gaby, who plays for her school team. These two jokesters are Mauricio and Gaston -- who is who, I've never been able to tell -- hey, ow!" Kun scooted out of Gaston's kicking range, moving on to the two youngest, "And these two here are Mayra and Daiana. Mayra always wears blue and Daiana always wears white."

"Because they're the colors of the flag," Gaby helpfully supplied.

"Yup," Kun nodded, "Because they're the colors of the flag." He turned back to Leo, beaming, "Well?"

"Uh," Leo faltered, "I think I've got it?" He stepped forward and started with the youngest two: "Mayra, Daiana, Gaston, Mauricio... um, Gaby, Yesica, and Mr. and Mrs. Aguero, right?"

"Wow," Kun said, clapping, "Full points!"

Kun's father gave an awkward cough: "Actually, we're the del Castillos."

"No, we're the Aguero del Castillos," Kun's mother corrected.

"Oh. Um, sorry," Leo stammered, ducking his head.

"Don't be! It's a long story, in fact, I'm surprised Kun hasn't told you it!" Adriana insisted, going over to pinch Leo's cheeks again, "Oh, he's so precious Kun, where did you find such a sweet boy?"

"I'm still going with the hypothesis Kun just barged in on his life," Yesica declared.

"For your information," Kun retorted, "I'm actually very popular, respected, and well-liked by my peers!"

"Because you don't have any!" Gaston shot back. He and Yesica high-fived while Mauricio rolled his eyes.

"Any chance of showing us the place?" Leonel asked, setting the twins down and moving towards the complex.

"Oh, right!" Kun grinned, "Sure thing, c'mon!"

Kun gave his family a tour of the place, with Leo tacking on commentary every now and then. Kun's family was as loud and enthusiastic as one would expect, though it was, oddly enough, more endearing than exhausting. The last stop on their tour was, of course, their shared dorm room. The younger kids were really excited over seeing such a large bunkbed while Adriana and Leonel admitted it was a nice place -- certainly a step up from the house they used to live in!

"Hey, hey," Gaston asked, pulling Leo's sleeve, "Is it true Kun lets _you_ get the top bunk?"

Leo blinked. "Um, yes?"

"No fair!" the younger boy pouted. "At home he always gets the top bunk!"

"Those are the privileges of an older brother," Kun declared, dropping down on the two of them after herding Mayra and Daiana down from Leo's bed, "Leo, go show Gaston your ID card. Then he'll have to believe you."

Leo did as told and Gaston's eyes widened like eggs when he saw.

"Wow," he said, "You're even older than Yesica!"

"Who's even older than me?" Yesica asked.

"Leo!"

"Huh," Yesica raised an eyebrow, squinting at Leo. "I mean, I think _I_ look more mature but it's okay, not all of us are beanstalk growers, eh?"

The chatter and banter continued so on and so forth. At some point, Leonel's stomach rumbled and then it was herding the mass of people back over to the canteen where sure enough, lunch was already being served. Adriana tsk'ed at the selection, but when she took the first bite of her empanada, even she had to admit it was well-made.

At a quarter to two, one of the assistants ran over, saying Leo's family was arriving. And then Leo was running out the door with Kun hot on his heels. The excitement was so much, he felt like he was going to choke from the two hundred meter (if that) dash.

The same warm wet lump had reappeared in his throat at the sight of his own family. His parents were certainly older than Kun's, but seeing them again, together, all of them, was still the best thing in the world. Leo ran to meet them halfway and, like Kun, was immediately wrapped in his mother's bear hug.

"Oh Lionel," his mother sighed, stroking his hair, "You're growing up so fast and I am so so SO proud of you!"

"Good job at the youth Copa," Rodrigo added, patting Leo's shoulder.

"We'll be watching your matches in Holland too, you can count on it!" Matias chimed in.

For a moment, Leo was so full of emotion, he couldn't even find the words to speak. But then his only sister and only younger sibling tugged on his wrist and he wrapped her up in the same hug his mother had just released him from and the words spilled forth, like a deluge. How he missed them, how he thought of them always, how Maria Sol was growing up so fast, how he had wanted to go back to Rosario during the break but he knew if he had gone back, he wouldn't have been able to make the whole training back... he probably would have kept at it for a good minute or two, had Maria Sol not urgently tugged on his sleeve.

"Leo!" she hissed, in that loud voice little kids used when trying to be secretive, "Who is that?" She pointed at Kun, who tilted his head, smiling, and gave a little wave.

"That's Kun," Leo grinned, gesturing for the other boy to come over. He mirrored Kun's actions from before, slinging an arm over Kun's shoulders and introducing him: "So this is Sergio Aguero, but everyone calls him Kun. He's the only player in this camp younger than me and so even though he plays for Independiente, I have taken it upon myself to be his older brother."

As expected, there was a torrent of responses:

"Independiente, huh?"

"You know, I think I've seen him on TV."

"Yeah, that's because he's the youngest ever player to play PD!"

"Ohhh, so you're _that_ Aguero!"

"But what's up with Kun?"

"I'm so happy Lionel has found a friend!"

The wave of comments were punctuated with Maria Sol's almost reverent declaration of: "He's _so_ pretty."

Kun grinned at that, reaching over to ruffle her hair, "Thanks," he said without missing a beat, "You're really pretty too!" And just like that, Maria Sol blushed bright red. Kun turned to Leo, oblivious as usual, and added, "Aren't you going to introduce your family?"

"Oh, right!" Leo smiled, turning to his parents, "This is my mom, Celia Cuccitini."

"Nice to meet you," Kun went over to kiss her cheek.

"No, no, the pleasure is all mine," his mother answered, pinching Kun's cheek (which just went to show all mothers were alike). "You have no idea how happy I am, that Leo's made a friend!"

"Mom," Leo whined despite himself, and then it was Kun's turn to stifle a laugh. Leo felt his cheeks heating up but he ploughed on, directing Kun's attention to his father. "And this is my dad, Jorge Messi."

"Nice to meet you too!" Kun grinned as he was pulled into a hug.

"Independiente, eh?"

"Viva Independiente!" Kun answered.

"And these are my older brothers, Rodrigo and Matias," Leo added, and then furrowed his brows. "Gabriella didn't come?"

"No, she went to her parent's place with the kids. They're way too young to sit for five hours in the car."

"Especially with dad at the wheel," Matias added.

"Right," Leo turned back to Kun, "Well, Rodrigo's wife is Gabriella and they've got two boys, Antonio and Diego. And Matias..." he paused, "Where's Antonella?" he asked his second brother.

"Morning sickness."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. And Antonella is Matias' wife."

"Nice to meet you," Kun repeated, hugging both of Leo's brothers.

"Le-o!" Maria Sol asked, stomping her foot, "What about _me_?"

"Of course I'd save the best for last," Leo soothed, going over and stroking his sister's hair. Kun followed dutifully, grinning all the while. "And this is the lovely Maria Sol, the true baby in our family."

"I'm not a baby!" Maria Sol complained, "I'm almost twelve years old!"

"Oh!" Kun exclaimed, "I've got a sister your age."

"Gaby?" Leo asked.

"Yup."

And like that, Maria Sol's eyes lit up. "Is she here?" she eagerly asked.

"Yup. Wanna go meet her?"

"Yes please!" Maria Sol ran to their father. "Papi, can I go meet Leo's friend's sister? Please please please?"

"We'll all come," his mother declared, beaming at the two of them, "I'd love to get to know the parents who raised such a sweet and charming young man."

"Oh stop," Leo moaned, "You swell his head up and he won't be able to walk through the door!"

The seven of them trooped back to the canteen where sure enough Kun's family had finished their meal and were now sitting around nursing two cups of mate. They all stood up as one when Leo and Kun re-entered and there was another round of hugs, kisses, and introductions.

Needless to say, everyone got along really well, despite coming from different parts of the country, there was a sense of solidarity since both of them were sending out "their babies" (to quote either of their mothers, Leo wryly thought) back to the Old World. As previously noted, his own mother was relieved to see he had made himself a new friend, while Kun's mother dragged him aside at some point and thanked him heartily for befriending her son because (in her words) it was such a "relief" that someone "so sweet and mature" like Leo was looking after Kun. Leo was quick to reassure Adriana that the door swung both ways and Kun was often helping him out too, but Adriana would have none of it, adding humble to his list of good qualities to boot.

Only then did Leo realize that this trip to the Netherlands would be Kun's first time leaving the country. Indeed, neither of his parents -- no one in his family, really -- had stepped foot in Europe, so of course they would be anxious. For Leo, who was used to flying here and there, for practice or matches or just public events, the trip seemed unremarkable but he made a mental note to keep an eye on Kun, just in case.

It was his mother who came up with the suggestion. In her own words: "Well, we bought Leo a cellular phone to use in Spain and the salesman reassured us it would work in the Netherlands too. So why not leave your phone number then and you can keep in touch with dear Sergio that way?"

"Mom," Kun immediately whined, "I'm already seventeen, it'll be okay."

Adriana Aguero ignored her son, looking straight at Leo. Kun caught on quick and he veered his attention in the same direction.

"Um," Leo said, sweating bullets. He would have liked to weigh his options, but then his own mother looked at him expectantly and that made it a done deal. "I'll go get the phone, be right back!" And with that said, he dashed off to their room, trying to ignore the look of betrayal on Kun's face.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes, but when he returned, it was just Kun and their mothers.

"Where did everyone else go?" Leo asked.

"Oh, your fathers took the boys to play football and the girls are playing hide and seek," his mother answered. "Did you bring your cellular phone?"

"Yes." Leo dutifully gave it over.

"I really think this is overkill," Kun tried again, "Haven't I already promised I would email you every night?"

"You promised that when you were playing in Cordoba and look at how that went!" his mother shot back.

"Well that was because I was tired." Kun's mother ignored him in favor of Leo's mother who was showing how to input new phone numbers.

"Okay, so here it is," she turned the device on and then frowned. "Leo, how does it work again?"

Leo refrained from rolling his eyes, going over and showing both of their mothers how to input a new number.

"Oh wow, that is so neat!" Adriana declared, "It even tells you what you've entered!"

"Now make sure to add the country code, that's 054 for Argentina," his own mother added.

"And... there!" Kun's mother grinned, showing Leo the phone. "Now you have our phone number, alright?" It was aptly titled Aguero del Castillo.

"Got it," Leo nodded as Kun snorted and crossed his arms.

"Are we done here yet?" he asked, "Because I'd really like to kick Gaston's ass before the sun sets..."

"Yes, yes," his mother replied, beaming at the both of them. She squeezed Kun's cheek, "You know I just worry for you, being so far away all by yourself."

"Yes, mom."

"Do you want to come watch?" Leo asked his own mother.

"No, no, I think Adriana and I will chat for a while. Run along you two." His mother made a shooing motion. Leo didn't need to be told twice; he was surprised then, that Kun trailed behind him, purposely distancing himself. He slowed down, but the other boy made no effort to catch up, and when he turned around, he saw Kun full-on glaring at him.

"Kun," Leo tried.

"Shut up," Kun said, "I don't want to talk to you right now."

Leo fell silent and the two of them trooped over to the field where, as expected, their fathers and brothers -- and Gaby, surprisingly -- were playing football with relatives of the other players. Both of them were subbed in within minutes, playing on the opposite side, and though Kun made sure to glare at him, it didn't seem to affect his game. It didn't affect Leo's game, that was for sure, and both of them played to the best of their abilities.

Kun's mood didn't improve even after three matches. Even when their families were seated side-by-side for dinner and Maria Sol and Gaby were fighting over who would grow up to marry him, he didn't once look Leo's way. Leo felt it was terribly unfair, especially as Kun was as affectionate with his mother as before. Hell, Kun was as affectionate with _Leo's_ mother as his own!

It was only when Daiana took pity on Leo, making him lean down so she could loudly whisper that she thought his hair was the softest, that Kun paid Leo any attention at all. And then it was all the outrage of an older brother.

"His hair is not softer than mine," he growled.

"Lemme check," Yesica grinned, ruffling Leo's hair and then Kun's. "Nope, his is definitely softer."

"Bullshit!"

"Kun, language!" -- Mrs. Aguero, of course.

"Maria? Gaby?" Kun turned to his fans, "What do you think?"

Maria Sol and Gaby followed Yesica's suit. Then they conferred with one another in properly hushed whispers.

"Well?" Kun demanded.

"Leo's hair is softer," Maria Sol declared.

"But Kun is still the prettiest," Gaby underscored.

"This is so unfair," Kun pouted, crossing his arms and giving Leo the evil eye. Leo felt sick to his stomach, though he knew better than to show it. Instead he played with Mauricio and Gaston (they were flinging peas at their father's shoes underneath the table) while Kun shared stories with the girls.

Supper ended and with it, the families were kindly but firmly told they would have to depart. There was a six AM bus for the U20 squad to the airport where they were to catch a 9AM flight to Amsterdam. Leo felt the familiar chasm when he was standing in the parking lot waving goodbye to his family and promising to write once a day and it seemed more intense than usual. His gut clenched up when he heard Kun's voice crack with emotion and he couldn't say anything then.

The two of them stood outside the longest.

Finally, Kun turned and walked back inside. Leo followed, wondering what he could say. Now that Kun had been stewing for the better part of the visit, Leo was suitably inured to his glaring and felt his own irritation rise up. What had he done so wrong, that would trigger such a thing? And why didn't Kun bother telling him what he had done wrong, so he could avoid a repeat incident?

Back in their room, Kun stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed, curling up beneath the blankets without so much as a goodnight. Leo's eye twitched dangerously. He breathed in slowly, drawing the motion out, and unclenched his fists.

"Goodnight," he tried.

He counted to one hundred, but Kun didn't say anything.

Leo huffed, walking over and shaking the other boy's shoulder. "I _said_ 'goodnight'," he growled.

"And I said fuck off I don't want to talk to you," Kun threw back.

"Why are you even angry?" Leo demanded, "If it was reversed, would you actually tell my mom no, she can't have your cellphone number?" And then, when Kun didn't reply, he felt emboldened and continued with: "That's right. You would have given it to her. Because you're going farther away than you ever have before and she has every right to be worried!"

"It's fine if _she_ worries," Kun retorted, "But I'm sick of you treating me like a kid."

"You're six -- "

" _SEVENTEEN_."

"Okay, fine, you're seventeen years old. You can't do anything, of course you're still a kid!"

"You're still seventeen too!"

"I'm going to be eighteen by the end of the month!"

Instead of continuing the argument, Kun grabbed his pillow and threw it. Leo caught it and also caught a glimpse of the tears that were streaming down the other's boy's cheeks. All fight escaped him at the sight of it and Kun sank back down though, burying his face in the sheets.

Leo set the pillow down, gingerly seating himself on the bottom bunk. When it was apparent Kun wasn't going to respond, Leo reached out a hand, petting his hair.

"Go away," Kun snarled, though the venom was muffled by the sheets.

"I'm sorry," Leo tried. It felt weird to say it. He didn't make a habit of apologizing, that was for sure.

Kun didn't say anything for a while. And then, while still talking into the sheets, he asked: "Why are you sorry?"

"Because you're angry and sad."

" _You're_ the reason I'm angry and sad."

Leo lifted his hand as if scalded. "Why?" he demanded, "Because I gave your mom my phone number?"

"It's not just the phone number!" Kun insisted, pushing his head up to glare at Leo with red-rimmed eyes, "I'm seventeen years old and I'm supposed to be this rising star but instead you all treat me like a kid!"

"It's what a good older brother would do."

"You don't get it!"

"Then tell me!"

"It's like -- " Kun huffed, so worked up it was difficult to speak. Now this was something Leo knew well and he waited patiently for the other to find the right words. "Like, when I'm in the locker rooms at Independiente, they're always calling me baby or infant or toddler. And it's like, I know I'm not done growing, I know I can't grow a beard, but...!" He crossed his arms and glared at Leo, "I thought you would be different. I guess I was wrong."

"I know what it's like," Leo admitted. "In the Barcelona locker rooms it's the same thing." Worse, too, as his green-eyed teammates wouldn't just tease. "But this isn't like that. You _are_ younger than me Kun. You always will be. And because of that, like your mom said, you are my responsibility. So of course I'm going to worry about you asshole, it's what friends _do_."

Kun crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Leo waited with baited breath for another outburst. But it never came. Instead, the other boy seemed to deflate, heaving a great sigh and leaning up against the wall.

"It's not exactly fun being angry with you," Kun conceded, rubbing at his eyes.

Leo laughed. "I try."

"I'm sorry too," Kun continued, "I should've told your mom thanks. Now my mom will be blowing up your phone."

"I'll make sure to pass it to you when she calls," Leo helpfully supplied.

"Thanks," Kun answered, rolling his eyes.

"Anytime."

They hugged, and like that, the fight was over. Part of it must have been irritation at being treated like a kid by someone who looked even younger, but Leo suspected it also had to do with anxiety. Kun was putting up a brave front for his family, pretending to be nonchalant about crossing the Atlantic Ocean and all, but he was probably just as homesick as Leo, perhaps even more. Leo pressed a kiss to his forehead at the end of the hug and then climbed back up to his own bunk.

"Good night, Leo," Kun said as he flicked off the lights.

"Good night Kun," Leo answered. And in that moment, all was well with the world.


	6. In ways we accept as part of fate's decree

Chapter 6  
 **In ways we accept as part of fate's decree**

It was not one of Kun's proudest moments. He had already been a mess of nerves the night before, first from seeing his own family, then meeting Leo's, and then being reminded that -- even though in his heart of hearts he thought Leo was the kid that needed to be coddled and taken care of -- in reality, he was the younger one and even _his mom_ thought that he was Leo's responsibility and not the other way around. Kun was a mess of conflicting desires come dinnertime and none of them were rational.

Even though he was angry with Leo, he found playing against him on the pitch to be the most satisfying thing ever. Even though he could only beat him head-to-head like one in ten times, that one time was the best feeling ever. He couldn't allow himself to enjoy it though, knowing full well Leo would head back to Rosario and then Barcelona at the end of the U20. Furthermore, for the U20, they would be playing on the same side. This worried Kun because he still remembered that one proper match Ferraro had let them play and the feeling of sharing passes with _Leo_. It had been fantastic, like no other round of football he had ever played, and he feared growing overly dependent on the other.

 _Man must learn to make do without,_ had been one of the defining mottos of his early life. So there was no hot water for the week? No problem, they could just bath during midday on the roof. Gaston and Mauricio were crying from dusk 'till dawn _and_ Yesica had stolen the last good set of earplugs? No sweat, he could just sleep on the bus ride to the pitch. And so forth.

His family too had been as warm and welcoming as they'd always been and after spending the whole day with them, Kun was filled with a sharp sense of longing while leading them back out to the parking lot. For a wretched moment, he desperately wanted to listen to his mother's advice: skip the tournament and go back home. Even if he didn't attend this U20, he could still be called up for the 2007 round. And who was he kidding? He was a head shorter than all the other players except for Leo and unlike Leo, he didn't have the stamina to last ninety minutes, not against giants like the Europeans. What was he going to be able to contribute to the team in the Netherlands? Though he couldn't answer any of those questions, his pigheadedness won out in the end. He was still pissed-off at Leo for treating him like his Independiente teammates treated him and determined to at least look mature.

Except then Kun had cried from those conflicting desires and Leo had held him close and stroked his hair and like that, the two of them had made up -- from a spat that was mostly Kun's creation. _And_ his mother still had Leo's phone number.

Neither of them were really awake at 6AM. They shuffled on autopilot from their dorm room to the bus. Kun took the seat by the window and Leo sat next to him. He closed his eyes for a bit and when he opened them again, the bus was already pulling in to the airport parking lot. Leo had fallen asleep against his shoulder, leaving a small spot of drool which Kun would have teased him about, had he not been so embarrassed on his own.

Up until the plane took off, Kun was actually excited. Though he had flown on a plane before (unlike some of the other players there), there was nonetheless a huge difference between domestic and international flights. Check-in was a lot longer and security more rigorous and it was a huge relief they had a dozen adults on standby because Kun didn't think he could make it through any of the questions without cracking a joke. At the end of security, they were shuffled into the lounge where there was a smorgasboard of drinks and snacks. It was like a free vending machine! Kun stuffed his pockets with the free goodies and went back to Leo. The two of them lounged on the sofa, with Leo stealing bites every now and then, and before long, they were being hoarded from the lounge to the waiting room and then walking single-file with passport and boarding card out onto the plane.

The plane was a lot larger and nicer than the one he had taken from Cordoba to Buenos Aires. It seemed twice as wide and the seats were a lot cushier. The seats had been assigned alphabetically so he was at the front and Leo in the middle. He was supposed to be sitting next to Rodrigo but Leo plopped himself down next to Kun and Rodrigo just rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering something about schoolboys stuck at the hip before asking Leo for his original seat number and contenting himself with sitting next to Nicolás. And so it was that, just like on the bus, the two of them were seated side-by-side with Kun at the window. It was all so cool, and the flight attendants were really pretty, that Kun didn't have time to be nervous.

Then they had to buckle up and the pilot told them the plane would be lifting off from the runway. And again, Kun had flown before so he knew this meant they would be taking off soon. So he was relaxed. Then the plane took off and he pressed his face to the windowpane, watching as the cars and buildings and streets of Buenos Aires became smaller and smaller and though he had seen it many times before, it was the first time he would be away for a whole month. And like that, he found himself blinking back tears.

Leo noticed immediately, pressing a hand to the back of Kun's neck.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

With effort, Kun tore his eyes from the tiny colorful dots that made up the capital.

"Nothing," he answered, turning so that his head was buried in the crook of Leo's neck. Leo stiffened for a moment and then relaxed, lowering his hand so that it squeezed Kun's shoulder.

Kun found himself suddenly nauseous. He wanted to look out, wanted to see the city one last time (except it wouldn't be one last time, he reminded himself, because they were coming back in less than a month), but he knew he would throw up if he did.

"Leo?"

"Hm?"

"Can you switch seats with me?"

"Now?"

Kun nodded. He didn't see it then, but Leo gnawed on his lower lip for a bit, clearly concerned about the still-illuminated light that said seat belts needed to be fastened.

"Alright fine," Leo said, "But we have to be quick."

They hastily switched seats and Kun felt a lot better, now that the temptation to look outside was removed.

"Thanks," Kun whispered, as they were fastening their seatbelts anew. Leo gave a grunt, tilting his head to the side, which Kun took as permission to lean against him. As he did so, Leo slid his hand into Kun's, squeezing lightly. By the time the captain turned off the seat belt signs, both of them were sound asleep.

-

Roughly halfway through the first leg of their journey (a fourteen hour flight from Buenos Aires to Frankfurt), Kun was roughly shaken awake as the whole plane lurched downwards. He was instantly alert but utterly discombobulated. The cabin was pitch-black save for the little lights at the top. Leo was slumped against him, soft breaths puffing against Kun's neck, and Kun was momentarily reassured with the other's presence.

And then the plane lurched again and the seatbelt signs were turned on as a voice over the PA said they had encountered unexpected turbulence and would all passengers remain in their seats with their seat belts fastened.

Kun was amazed to discover Leo had slept through both the lurching motions and the announcement. From the time between the second and third lurch, he tried to keep his own panic under control, practicing deep breaths and thinking of the matches they would soon be playing in. It was useless; he was the farthest he had been from a football field, three kilometers up in the sky. His palms were clammy with sweat and when he reached over Leo to crack open the window, he practically wet himself at the sight of a thundercloud.

His heart was _racing_ as he slammed the blind shut and this motion, oddly enough, was what woke Leo up.

"Kun?" Leo asked, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Leo," Kun said, trying his best to sound brave and failing miserably, "We're flying into a thundercloud." Right as he said this, the plane wobbled. Kun gave an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek, burying his face in Leo's shoulder.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," he gasped, "We're going to die. We're all going to die."

Leo didn't say anything, though he wrapped one arm around Kun's shoulders, pulling him close, and started running his other hand through Kun's hair. In any other scenario, Kun would have shrugged the other off and made a face at being coddled so. But right now as they were on a death trap of steel weighing ten tons suspended in the air _next to a thunderstorm_ , Leo seemed to be the most solid thing in the world. Kun buried himself closer and felt Leo rest his chin on Kun's forehead.

The turbulence of the Atlantic Ocean was like nothing he had ever been on. Like going on a roller coaster for the first time in the middle of the night, where you had no idea when it would be over. He found himself making the cross even while wrapped up in Leo's embrace, fighting to keep from screaming _I don't want to die_. Kun found himself praying with such desperate earnestness, surely the Pope himself would have been amazed with his piety. Dear God, he thought desperately, I know I have sinned but I don't want to die. I'm too young to die! Please let me live, please let me survive this plane ride and the plane ride home and I --

And herein was the problem. He didn't know what he had that he could bargain with. In the end, he desperately settled on: I'll dedicate every goal I make in this match to you AND I'll call my parents every night. Kun repeated this mantra over and over and over again while Leo held him close. Soon enough, the flight attendant announced that they had exited the turbulent mists and the seat belt sign was again turned off.

Kun extracted himself from Leo, taking deep and shakey breaths.

"Are you okay?" Leo asked, pressing a hand to Kun's cheek.

"Yeah," Kun answered, turning his head and kissing Leo's palm. "Thanks." Then he slouched to the side so his head rested against Leo's shoulder and fell asleep, still covered in sweat.

When Kun woke again, the flight attendants were serving breakfast in preparation for their descent into Frankfurt. Leo was still asleep on his shoulder. Kun nudged him awake and they pulled out their tray tables. Like usual, Leo was a picky eater: out of the whole tray, he would only eat the croissant. Kun gave him his croissant and stole the pineapple chunks from Leo's plate.

"Leo?" he asked when their plates had been cleared away.

"Hm?"

"Do you mind if we switch back again?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Mm," Kun grinned, "As long as it's not dark outside, I'm fine."

"Sure then," Leo shrugged. They made the switch. Soon enough the seat belt sign was turned on and all the window blinds were opened. Kun watched, wide-eyed, as the plane made its way down through the clouds. It was his first time seeing Europe, he realized, and was excited despite himself. Yesica and Gaby were beside themselves with jealousy and even his parents were a little wistful knowing that Kun would see the Old World before them. He reminded himself of his own oath and made an additional promise that he would take some time off (or sneak out, whatever was necessary) to buy everyone souvenirs.

At four AM in the morning, Frankfurt was a bit of a disappointment. The sun was just making its way over the edge of the horizon but even with the shadows of early dawn, Kun could tell the blocky buildings were mostly brown and gray. The pilot announced the weather for the day (once it came) would be overcast. Despite this disappointment and smugness that their homeland was _prettier_ , the sight of the still-sleeping metropolis stirred something in him.

He was here. In Europe. Not as alone as his mother feared he would be, but away from family all the same.

Kun was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He turned to Leo, who was looking his way, and threw his arms about the other, kissing him on the cheek.

As usual, Leo blushed bright red.

"What was that for?" he asked, though he didn't pull away.

"A thank-you, I guess," Kun shrugged, not knowing how to word it. He added: "I'm glad you're here."

A soft smile made its way across Leo's face then and he cautiously darted forward, pecking Kun's cheek in return.

"I'm glad you're here too," he said.

-

Once again, the coaches herded their team into one of the lounges and they were told boarding for the flight to Amsterdam was in two hours' time. Ferraro even posted two "guards" at the only entrance to the lounge to make sure they couldn't sneak out and see the city.

"I'm so bored," Kun declared, when there was still half an hour left. He was sprawled out on one of the sofas, on the cusp of a food coma. Leo was perched on the same sofa, uncaring of Kun's feet in his lap. He nodded absent-mindedly, staring into his phone.

"I miss my Walkman," he added. When Leo said nothing again, Kun poked him with his shoe. "Leo," he whined, "Do something."

"Catch," Leo said, throwing his phone.

"What the -- " Kun sat up, catching it with both hands. He blanched, seeing the familiar phone number. "You bastard!"

"It's ringing," Leo grinned.

Instinctively, Kun sat at attention, bringing the phone to his ear. After ringing four times, his mother picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mom," Kun said, shooting his friend a glare. Leo had the decency to cover his grin with his hand, though it didn't stop the corners of his eyes from crinkling. "It's me."

"Sergio! Oh my goodness! So you're using Lionel's phone?"

"Yes, Mom," Kun grated, "I'm using Leo's phone. Just calling to let you know we've arrived in Frankfurt."

"Frankfurt?! But I thought you were going to Amsterdam!"

"We are, we are. But the flight's split into two."

"Oh, I see. Well, when's the flight to Amsterdam?"

"In half an hour."

"Did you have dinner?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Is Lionel nearby?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Well put him on then!"

Now see, if Leo hadn't started the whole thing, Kun would have spared him. But he was feeling very little mercy at that moment and so shoved the phone back at Leo.

"My mom wants to talk to you," he said, grinning wide.

"What?" Leo repeated, "Me?"

Kun wiggled the phone and Leo took it.

"Ah, um, hello Mrs. Aguero," Leo stammered. Kun leaned back against the sofa, drinking in the sound of victory. "Yes, we're doing fine. ... Yes, we've eaten dinner. ... Um, raining. ... No, we're not outside." Leo hit him on the shin and Kun hit him back with his foot. "Oh no. No, it's no trouble at all," And here, Leo grabbed at Kun's shin and twisted. Kun gave a yelp of pain, sitting up and glaring while Leo smiled with crescent eyes. "Kun is like a brother to me," Leo added. "Yes, I'll make sure he's safe." He handed the phone back to Kun.

"Sergio?" his mother demanded, "Are you there?"

"Yes, Mom," Kun dutifully replied, pulling his legs back and massaging the spot Leo pinched.

"Well I just want to say, I don't know what you've done, but you must've done something right, to have made a sweet and charming boy as your friend! He's so mature, you know?"

"I know," Kun answered, even as he and Leo were trading faces. "He's so wonderful, mom. When I grow up, I want to be JUST. LIKE. HIM." He punctuated each word with a kick to Leo's thigh. Leo grabbed his right foot, yanked off the shoe, and tickled at the bottom. Kun gave an undignified shriek of laughter.

"Kun? Is everything alright?"

"Yes Mom! We're just boarding now, talk to you later, love you, bye!" He kicked wildly at Leo while he pressed a bunch of buttons. Eventually the line went dead and he tossed the phone back to the other boy. It fell to the sofa because Leo was doubled over with laughter.

"I hate you so much," Kun growled, "And give me back my shoe!"

"Sorry, sorry," Leo grinned, good-naturedly picking up Kun's fallen shoe. "If it's any consolation, my mom likes you a lot too."

"More than your sister?" Kun countered.

"Shut up," Leo rolled his eyes, tossing the shoe at Kun.

"Alright, that's enough roughhousing you too," Óscar declared, appearing from behind the sofa and placing a palm on each of their heads. "Boarding time now, go go go!"

-

Although his mother had warned him about travel fatigue, at the end of the uneventful hour-long flight from Frankfurt to Amsterdam, Kun was practically bouncing on his toes, dying to practice dribbling or shooting or even just run around. The fact he had slept most of the fourteen hours between Buenos Aires and Frankfurt probably had something to do with it. Leo, on the other hand, though not tired, certainly looked like he could take another nap.

"Leo," Kun poked his friend on the cheek. They were seated side-by-side in another lounge while the coaches double-checked everyone was there. After they were certain everyone had been accounted for, Ferraro cleared his throat and made to speak. "You should listen when Ferraro's talking."

"You listen for me," Leo said without opening his eyes.

"Quiet in the back there," Ferraro barked. But his own pleasure couldn't be hidden and he broke out into a grin. "Well, this is it, toddlers and tykes. The Netherlands! Congratulations on making it all the way here, it is currently..." he whipped out his watch to double-check, "7:32 in the morning, June 9th. Although the tournament starts tomorrow, our first match is the eleventh. Therefore, by executive authority, I have decided we ought to spend one day in this lovely city, mainly because the Missus wants some shoes," he rolled his eyes and made a throat-slicing motion as the other instructors laughed sympathetically. Kun couldn't believe his ears. "Anyways," Ferraro concluded, "We'll be taking a bus to the city center where you'll be split up into groups of four. Out of the generosity of the fatherland, each leader will be given four hundred euros, to spend as he sees fit. You are all to meet back at the starting point at 5PM sharp, do you understand? If you are even a nanosecond late, the bus will leave without you and you'll have to whore yourself out for a plane ticket back, you hear?"

Needless to say, there was a great round of applause from the players.

"Did you hear that?" Kun asked, nudging Leo with his shoulder. "We're going to get to spend a whole day in Amsterdam!"

Leo made a grumbling noise. Kun figured he wanted to sleep more.

"Before we get on the bus, I want to be clear: what time are you expected to come back to the bus?"

"Five o'clock!" they all chorused.

"Very good!" Ferraro whipped out his sunglasses and popped them on with a flourish, leading the gaggle of Argentinians out of the lobby and through the airport, onto the waiting bus.

-

It was half past eight when the bus pulled into the central train station at Amsterdam. Despite the early hour and the fact it was a Thursday, the place was awash with activity. Kun pressed his face to the bus window, eyes wide as saucers. _This_ was the Europe he had read about in picture books! This colorful bustling vibrant city with cobblestoned sidewalks and canals and flowering pots dangling from every window...

Behind him, Leo snorted.

"What's the matter?" Kun asked.

"Barcelona is prettier."

"No way!"

"Definitely."

Kun turned back to window, unable to imagine something lovelier than the scene before him. One thing he had already noticed in Germany (well, actually, Ezequiel had noticed it first) was how _pale_ the Europeans were. He remarked on it to Leo, saying at least he didn't stick out like a sore thumb here, and Leo said with a dismissive sniff that the people in Spain could actually sport tans which, Kun figured, was another marketing scheme on Leo's part to get him interested in Barcelona. He had to admit, he was a little curious how Leo's city looked, now that he had had the chance to see Amsterdam.

It was a surprise that Ferraro paired them up with Julio and Juan, two of the oldest players on the team. Both of them were twenty years old and either full-grown or close to it. Julio had just shaved off his beard while Juan was still sporting dreadlocks.

Kun felt absurdly childish, lined up against the two of them. They were practically taller by a head!

"Oh great," Juan said, sharing a look with Julio.

"Babysitting duty," Julio nodded.

And then, before Kun had even opened his mouth to protest, Juan cut to the chase: "Hey, Messi, have you ever had a woman before?"

Kun gave an outraged squawk on his friend's behalf because what kind of question was that, especially at eight in the morning in a foreign capital?! He turned to Leo to see the other boy's cheeks coloring.

"No," Leo said.

"Huh. Pity," and then Juan turned to Kun, "How about you Aguero?"

"Of course not!" Kun answered, feathers thoroughly rustled.

"Tch," Julio tsked.

"Aww c'mon, everyone's a kid once," Juan grinned, mussing up Kun's hair.

"Stop that," Kun grumbled, batting the other's hand away. "And what does that have to do with anything, anyways? Aren't we going to see the city?"

The two of them -- Juan and Julio, that is -- traded glances and then burst out laughing. Kun flushed deeper, balling his fists.

"Okay, okay," Juan conceded, "It's my first time in Amsterdam too. We'll see the sights with you and have lunch and then we'll drop you off in, like, a kid's center or something and pick you up at five, okay?" He spoke way too fast for Kun to catch everything and then clapped a hand around both their -- Kun and Leo's -- shoulders, steering them towards the train station's exit. "Alright, now that that's settled, let's get a move on! High-ho!"

-

The thing was, although Juan and Julio were loud and brash and coarse, they were still two years older and a hell of a lot more worldly, even if it was their first time out of the country too.

None of them knew any Dutch (the native language) or English (the lingua franca) but Julio, who was from San Martin, had taken three semesters of German at some point and subsequently knew enough to order the full breakfast set for four. All of them, save for Leo, were amazed with how much food was offered for the morning meal.

After they had eaten, Juan indulged them with a stroll of the streets and canals. It was so beautiful, Kun kept saying, and it really was. The bridges, the shops, the flowers, the smiling people who came really close and smelled good and... Juan was grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and dragging him away, calling him three different kinds of idiot with Leo and Julio trailing behind them.

"Where did you even learn this stuff?!" Kun demanded, certain there was a conspiracy going on, when Juan stopped him from buying what seemed to be colorful sprinkles in a glass jar.

"It's called having an ounce of common sense!" Juan spat back, "Jesus Christ, seriously, I'm this close to demanding Ferraro pay us extra for this service!" He huffed and ran a hand through his dreadlocks, sighing. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I know it's your first time out and you want to buy something nice for your family. Okay, you know what, let's hit some of the markets before lunch, okay?"

He turned to Julio, who shrugged, and led them to another quaint cobblestone street lined with shops that sold every little knick-knack imaginable. Kun's eyes got very wide then and Juan laughed, ruffling his hair again.

"Go on then," he urged, pushing Leo as well, "Buy some shit you think your families will like."

Kun didn't need to be told twice. It was like Christmas shopping... in June. In the Netherlands. Which, to be fair, was roughly the same weather as Christmas in Argentina. In one hour, they had acquired toys, sweets, stickers, postcards, and weird wooden shoes that the lady at the store insisted -- as translated by a very amused Julio -- would bring about true love. Kun didn't need something like that, but he figured one of his sisters might find use for something like that and he grinned when Leo bought a pair for Maria Sol.

-

The four of them ate at another outdoor cafe for lunch and Leo had the foresight to warn them that European lunches were also different. It was just so weird, Kun thought, that the people in the Old World would eat so much for breakfast but practically nothing -- because seriously, how much nutrition could there _be_ in a sandwich and chips?! -- for the most important meal of the day?

Despite this, they had a good time, with Kun and Juan making humorous observations about the passerby and Julio doing his best impression of the Swiss-Argentinian accent.

And then it was half past one and, true to their plans, Juan and Julio dropped Kun and Leo off at a tattoo shop owned by a Spanish expat that was a friend of Julio's brother. Though it was the first time they'd met, there was hugs and kisses all around and Sergio -- the shop owner -- led Kun and Leo to the first floor where a Playstation hooked to a television was nestled behind a huge couch.

Kun ran to the set-up. Sure enough, there was Pro Evo.

Leo was right behind him.

"Do you play?" Leo asked him.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Kun replied. "C'mon, grab a controller, pick your team, I'll kick your ass!"

Sergio laughed at the sight of them, shaking his head. "Boys will be boys, eh?" They were already at the team selection screen then, far and away in a different world. There was a chime, announcing a customer, and Sergio ruffled at their hair, telling them to help themselves to snacks and soda in the shelves and yell if they needed anything.

At that point in time, with regards to video games, the two of them were evenly matched. In fact, Kun would go far as to say he had a slight upper hand. After three hours and some twenty-odd matches, Leo made a tsk'ing noise and threw down his controller, scowling.

"This is a shit controller," he complained.

"Oh no," Kun languished, "What next? Are you going to complain your hands were cold?"

"There's lag with the up button."

"Sure there is." Kun stood up, stretching, and then looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to four. "Oh man, Juan and Julio should be coming back soon." It was a fifteen minute walk from Sergio's place to the central train station but they wanted to have thirty minutes just to be safe. Leo was still moping on the couch so Kun unplugged the controllers and turned off the TV and Playstation. He grabbed two cans of Coke from the fridge and tossed one over to Leo.

"Cheers?" Kun tried. Leo clinked their cans together, at least.

"You know," Kun said, when the clock chimed for four, "I had an idea."

"I'll be sure to alert _La Capital_."

"Shut up. It's a good idea. Listen," Kun leaned forward, enthusiastic, "We're in the Netherlands, right?"

"Yes."

"And we're in a tattoo parlor."

"Yes."

"So we should get tattoos!"

Leo frowned. "I heard they hurt."

"Only a little," Kun insisted. "Okay fine, I'll get one first and if it doesn't hurt, you can get one too, okay?"

Leo raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "What are you going to get?" he asked.

"I don't know," Kun stood up, "Lemme see what work Sergio's done, maybe I'll be inspired!"

He trooped downstairs and Leo followed. Sergio was just waving goodbye to a customer, he turned with a smile when he saw them.

"Ah, the gamers! Done so soon?"

"Sergio!" Kun greeted, flashing his most brilliant smile, "I've decided I want a tattoo! Can you make one for me?"

The Spaniard raised his eyebrows. "First, how old are you, and second, what brought this up?"

"He's seventeen," Leo answered.

"I think it'd be so cool!" Kun said at the same time.

"Uh, yeah, no, seventeen is too young. I once had a sixteen year old get some ink and his parents were absolutely livid. I thought my balls were going to be crushed," Sergio shuddered at the memory. "And besides, getting a tattoo just because you like the idea of a tattoo is dumb. You should think long and hard about what you want because removal, while possible, is still a pain in the ass."

Kun crossed his arms and huffed. What Sergio said made sense, but he couldn't help feeling childishly slighted. He had been so prepared to show off his tattoo when he got back to Argentina! And if his mom gasped and fainted at the sight, well then, all the better!

"Isn't there anything I _can_ get?" he tried, giving his best puppy dog face.

Sergio looked behind his shoulder at the clock and, seeing as how there was a good twenty minutes before Juan and Julio were due back, heaved a sigh. "Well," he started, with the voice of a much-suffering parent, "I guess if you really want something, I can offer you a normal lobe piercing."

"A what?"

"An earring."

"Oh." Kun thought about it. It was significantly less cool than a tattoo, but at least it'd be something. "Oh alright then!" he threw up his hands, "An earring, okay!" He turned to Leo, "Do you want an earring too?"

"Is it going to hurt?" Leo asked.

"Just a bit," Sergio admitted.

"You go first."

"Wait, wait, wait," Kun held up his hands, "You said it's going to hurt. How much are we talking?"

"I think you're going to go running home to your mom in tears," Sergio answered with an entirely straight face.

"Asshole," Kun glared.

"Hey, if you don't want a free piercing, it's no skin off my back!"

"No, no, I do," Kun nodded. The more he thought about it, the cooler it seemed. "Okay, how does this work? Do I have to clean my ear?"

"Eh," Sergio shrugged, "It's only a lobe piercing, no big deal. If you end up not liking it, just don't stick anything in it for a couple of weeks and it'll naturally heal." He steered Kun over to one of the chairs and then dragged Leo to stand to Kun's left side. "Hold onto his hand, will you? Just in case it hurts."

"Wait a second!" Kun protested, when Sergio was cleaning his right ear, "I don't want it on that side! I don't want to be mistaken as a dancer!"

"Coulda fooled me," Sergio rolled his eyes, gesturing for Leo to stand to Kun's right. He swabbed at Kun's left ear with alcohol and then lifted the piercing gun. "Okay, hold onto your friend's hand now." Leo did as told. "Okay, on three. One -- "

"Fuck!"

"And it's done!"

"Kun, you're going to break my bones," Leo murmured.

"Oh, right, sorry," Kun laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, that was sharper than I expected. Is it done?"

"Hold still. Don't move. Just a... okay, there!" Sergio handed him a hand mirror and Kun looked at himself. As expected, his left ear now sported a diamond stud.

"Sweet," Kun grinned. He turned to Leo, "What do you think?"

Leo flushed. "It's not bad," he mumbled.

"Awesome! So -- " Kun rubbed his hands gleefully, "Do you want one too?"

Unfortunately, Leo didn't get the chance to reply as Juan and Julio barged in through the back door then. They were buzzing with alcohol and probably sex and in high spirits. There was another round of hugs and kisses and both of them complimented Kun on his new earring. And then the four of them were hurrying back to the central train station where, sure enough, the rest of the group had already assembled. As it turned out, the rest of the team wasn't comfortable wandering the streets of Amsterdam (either because of the language barrier or lack of interest) and so had spent most of their time in the train station. Then they all clambered onto the bus at five PM sharp (Ferraro was the last one there, conspicuously wearing sunglasses even inside the vehicle) and then they were on their way to Enschede and the U20.


	7. So you pick up the pieces

Chapter 7  
 **So you pick up the pieces**

When Leo was younger, he thought he had been in love with his sister-in-law. Antonella had been his neighbor's cousin who came over for Easter and Christmas until her father had lost his job and started working for the same magnet factory as Leo's mom. Then she became the girl-next-door who would sit in the shade while her brothers, cousins, and neighbors kicked the ball around. She was pretty, sweet, soft-spoken, and terribly shy and so was the first love of practically all the boys in the neighborhood. Leo couldn't, for the life of him, remember if they had actually interacted in his childhood. More likely they had sat across from one another at the kid's table during Christmas lunch but didn't actually talk. In the face of this, he had always thought they would grow up and get married and live a normal life.

Then he moved to Barcelona and didn't see her during Christmas or Easter. For his prepubescent self, he had conflated Antonella with Argentina and so, in thinking of her and missing her, thought and missed his homeland in the same breath. There were no letters, no emails, no passing of messages because, again, they hadn't been acquaintances even in Rosario. But when the other boys at La Masia talked of romance, Leo always thought back to Antonella. Thinking back on it, he had truly been a child. He had prided himself on keeping her image pure; while the other boys would brag of stealing kisses (or worse), Leo couldn't imagine doing the same to Antonella. And then the hormone therapy ended and he was assigned a therapist who asked too many questions about the love life he didn't have. One session in particular stood out. The man in the three piece suit asked him if he liked a girl. Leo said yes. The man followed this question up with if he dreamed about her at night. Leo thought about it and, being unable to remember any dreams in the recent past, said no. And then, as if he hadn't probed enough, the man asked point-blank if Leo had ever masturbated to the thought of this girl. If Leo had been a gaucho, he would have surely duelled the swine for Antonella's anger. As it was, he just balled up his fists and refused to answer any of the therapist's additional questions.

So he didn't dream of her. So he didn't rub one out to her. Neither of those things were exclusive to love, he rationalized. It was only when his mother relayed the wonderful news -- that Matias and Antonella were engaged and set to be married in three months' time (so, March) -- that his childhood assumptions came crashing down around him. It came a great shock of course, he hadn't known _Matias_ to be interested in Antonella as well, but there was no keening sorrow at the loss much less jealousy. As soon as the shock cleared, he found himself immediately and enthusiastically writing back to his mother, telling her to pass on his congratulations. His rosy-colored fantasies of a married life with Antonella were exposed as just that: fantasies. For how could it be called love, when he didn't feel anything -- anything besides second-hand happiness knowing two people important to him had found love -- upon receiving such news?

He began to worry then, that something was wrong with him. It was one thing to be a late bloomer; another thing entirely that he was only interested in football and PlayStation and neither of them in a romantic sense. But Geri and Cesc had already moved to England by then and he could only communicate with them through SMS and the prude in him couldn't stomach typing such questions into his phone in the first place. The only other option, besides talking to his family (who would only worry incessantly or worse, try to set him up) was to talk to the therapist and Leo really didn't like the man. In the end, he pushed such concerns out of his mind, focusing once more on the sport he had been born to play. Everything was easier on the pitch and he loved this simplicity so.

Flash forward to the present day where one Kun Aguero had utterly ingratiated himself in his life. Leo had only known the other for a week yet it was if they had been friends all their lives. Everything which he was supposed to have felt towards Antonella suddenly bubbled to the surface where Kun was involved. He thought of him, dreamt of him, and just -- wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

It was a horrifying realization.

Up until the plane trip, he had valiantly convinced himself that it was not love. Or, well, it was not _romantic_ love. Like Kun said, both of them spent a lot of time with people much older and larger so of course Leo would gravitate towards someone like himself. And Kun was a fantastic footballer (on top of being a very attractive young man) so it made sense for Leo to like him. He was funny and sweet and unlike the therapist in Barcelona, never made his questions into a big deal, it was just two newly-made friends getting to know each, so much so that Leo found himself looking forward to the other boy's questions. Plus, Kun was really touchy-feely, it wasn't just Leo he would hug and kiss after a successful shot, and so what if Leo was consumed with jealousy at the sight of Kun with his arms wrapped around Ezequiel or Pablo? It was just because they were good friends and Leo didn't want the other boys being better friends with Kun.

And then they had gotten on the plane bound for Frankfurt and Kun had been so nervous. in the closeness of the cabin, Leo was suddenly hyper aware of the other boy. How Kun's face was pressed into his neck; how _hot_ Kun's breaths were against his skin; how his whole body trembled with fear and he seemed to be digging himself into Leo, as if he hadn't already clawed out his lion's share.

In that flight, for the first time in his life, Leo experienced an unintentional erection. It wasn't like he hadn't masturbated or woken up with morning wood before, but those instances -- few and far between -- had been because of something rather than someone. But here he was, so hard it hurt, and he couldn't rationalize the cause as anything other than _Kun_.

When Kun's breaths evened out and his grip on Leo's hand slackened, Leo gingerly disentangled himself, undoing his seat belt and standing up. He looked at Kun and wanted to kiss him and the thought of it made his dick throb again. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before practically limping to the bathroom. When he went inside, he locked the door and checked the bottles. As expected, the hand lotion was next to the soap. He undid his pants and freed his erection. Then he squirted some lotion into his hand and closed his eyes and tried not to think too much about it. 'It' being the fact that he was jerking himself off to a specific person for the first time in his life. His traitorous mind supplied him with images of Kun in the lockers; he was horrified with the sheer amount of detail he had remembered. And then he was coming, all over the back of the toilet seat, and as soon as he caught his breath he grabbed some paper towels and cleaned the place up.

It didn't have to be love, he reminded himself, once his head was cleared from the worst of the arousal. Perhaps he was just physically attracted to Kun -- because Kun was _very_ attractive -- and conflating his desire to play football with him forever and ever with love.

Except then he returned to his seat, where Kun was still asleep and none the wiser, and the desire to kiss him returned full force. Leo took a deep breath before fastening his seat belt and leaning against the other boy's shoulder. God, he even smelled good.

There was no end to the trials and tribulations of life, he realized.

God was cruel in his kindness. Leo would have been happy with this want, with this even more fanciful fantasy, but he wasn't allowed even that. As soon as they touched down in Amsterdam, there was a whirlwind of activity. Juan and Julio took them to breakfast and lunch with a market run in-between (where Leo foolishly bought shoes which would bring good luck in love) and then dropped them off at a tattoo parlor owned by someone with the same first name as Kun. As Leo tried his best with the wretched controller, he couldn't help looking at Kun's face, scrunched up in concentration. He looked so serious then, a lot more serious than on the pitch, Leo had to bite back a laugh.

It didn't stop him from wanting to kiss the other.

It was over as quickly as it ended. Or it should have been, at least. Because then Kun was turning off the Playstation and leading him downstairs and trying to talk Sergio (the guy who ran the tattoo parlor) into giving him a tattoo and Sergio, thankfully, was a mature and responsible adult and having none of it. Except Kun, being Kun, somehow wheedled his way into getting an earring and Leo's heart skipped a beat when the option came up. Especially because Sergio steered him over to Kun's left side AND started cleaning his RIGHT earlobe and everyone knew what a right earring meant.

Kun put a stop to it right away.

"I don't want to be mistaken as a dancer," he said. It was a light-hearted statement and in no way offensive and still, Leo felt he had been stabbed in the gut. Because if it were love he felt towards the other boy, ribbing and teasing would be the tip of the iceberg. It was like being dunked in ice water; he could only swim to the surface when Kun was yelping in pain and gripping Leo's hand so tight, he thought his fingers might fly off.

Leo complained and Kun apologized, letting go. And in that motion, Leo made a promise to himself: that he would bury such feelings deep within, deeper than the not-quite crush he had had for Antonella.

 _No one must ever know_.

Kun was grinning at him then, with his new earring in-place and god damn he looked even better with the piercing. Leo could feel himself flushing but he couldn't lie, not when Kun was looking right at him. He had he liked it, because he did, and if he liked it too much and wanted to touch it and maybe run his tongue along Kun's ear, so long as Kun never found out, he would be fine. He was eternally grateful to Juan and Julio for barging in when they did, because if Kun kept looking at him like that, with his stud catching the light just so, he would have agreed to even a tattoo, just to see the other boy smile. Just to believe they were marked for one another.

He had it _bad_ , that was for certain.

-

At eight o'clock sharp the bus arrived at the Enschede training facility where they would be sleeping, practicing, and playing. Kun had been fishing for compliments from the other players for the duration of the journey; opinion was split as to whether the piercing was totally gay (even though, as Kun insisted, it wasn't on the right side!!!) or actually aesthetic. The most important thing, Leo supposed, was that Kun was happy with his spur of the moment decision -- though like Sergio said, if he regretted it letting the hole heal was a matter of weeks.

Like usual, the coaches lined them up in the entranceway to make sure everyone was accounted for. Then the room assignments were given out. Leo was pleased to find he and Kun would be rooming together; Kun beamed at the announcement as well and it made Leo's stomach lurch. The facilities were nice: there was a computer room downstairs and vending machines scattered throughout as well as a buffet-style breakfast and la carte lunch and dinner. There were three other national teams in their group: the US, Egypt, and Germany and their first match was in two days against the US.

"Not bad," Kun whistled, when they entered their room. There were two beds -- twin-sized -- and a shared bathroom. Kun set his suitcase on top of the bed closest to the window; Leo did the same with the one closest to the bathroom.

It felt a little weird because, after two weeks he had kind of gotten used to the bunkbed, especially where Kun was involved.

Like magic, Kun voiced what he was thinking:

"Sweet, now I won't live in fear of you squashing me flat in my sleep."

Well, roughly the same thing. Leo still laughed and Kun laughed too. Then he ducked into the bathroom, no doubt fiddling with his new accessory before switching off the lights and holding the front door open.

"Dinner?" he prompted.

"Dinner," Leo nodded.

-

Instead of watching television with the other boys after dinner, Leo elected to e-mail his family. Kun followed him, sheepishly asking for his cellphone after they were in the computer room. He had to open the window and lean outside for signal but managed to complete the call. Kun spoke for fifteen minutes, cycling through everyone in his family, before returning the phone to Leo and passing on his mother's greetings. Then he surfed the internet for a while, waiting for Leo to finish his letter.

At three minutes to lights-out, Leo finished. Then, as they were walking back to their dorms, Kun detoured at the vending machine. Needless to say, one of Salorio's lackeys accosted them outside their room, boxing both of their ears before confiscating the snacks.

"My ear hurts," Kun whined, rubbing at it with the palm of his hand.

"Your fault," Leo answered.

"How is it my fault? If you hadn't taken so long with your email, we would've made it back in time!"

"And if you hadn't stopped at the vending machine, we wouldn't have been punished in the first place!"

"You wanted it too!"

Leo sighed, because that was true. "Some older brother, eh?" he asked, and Kun laughed.

They quickly washed up and got into bed, where Kun remarked how weird it was that they weren't piled on top of one another and Leo was glad Kun was fiddling with his Walkman then because if he looked over he would have seen Leo bright red from his misconstruction of the innocuous comment.

The whirlwind tour of Amsterdam paired with the long flight meant they were both exhausted. Kun likely fell asleep listening to his Walkman.

-

Leo woke in the dead of the night. He rolled over and checked his cellphone. It read 4:25. He blinked his eyes, fully awake despite the early hour, and saw that Kun wasn't in his bed and light was filtering under the bathroom door.

He walked over and knocked on the door.

Kun opened it immediately. It was obvious he had been listening to cumbia.

"Sorry," the other boy said, "Did I wake you?"

"No. I need to use the bathroom though."

"Oh. My bad." Kun slipped out and Leo closed the door. When he finished, Kun was back on his bed, reclined against the headboard. The headphones were half-on again and the Walkman rested on his stomach.

"When did you wake up?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've listened to this CD twice," Kun answered, "So... two hours ago, give or take?"

"Oh." Leo went back to his own bed, settling beneath the sheets. He ended up tossing this way and that, unable to return to sleep. Finally, he pulled the covers down and looked at Kun.

"Am I keeping you up?" Kun asked, after he noticed Leo's gaze.

"No, it's fine. Can't sleep anyways."

"Is jetlag always such a problem?"

"You haven't seen anything yet."

"Ugh," Kun shuddered, "I don't know how you do it, seriously. I mean, I think it's cool -- Amsterdam was cool, that's for sure -- but a part of me is so freaked out. Like, are we really supposed to travel so far? And so fast? What were we going at, five hundred kilometers per hour?"

"Easily seven hundred."

"Jeez," Kun winced. "Thanks for not telling me that _while_ we were on board."

"Does it hurt?" Leo asked, all of a sudden curious.

"What? The piercing?" Kun raised a hand to fiddle with his ear. "It feels weird, that's for sure. If I pinch it, it'll hurt. But on its own, no." And then, when Leo didn't reply, he asked: "Why? Are you thinking of getting one?"

Leo made a noncommital noise.

"It was just a little prick."

"You nearly broke my hand."

"Eh, yeah," Kun waved his hand dismissively, "Sorry about that. It was really sudden."

"I figured."

They settled into a comfortable silence, though Leo didn't feel sleepy at all. It seemed like Kun was content to recline there, absent-mindedly tapping his feet to whatever song the Walkman was playing. Leo caught himself staring a bit too intensely and quickly redirected his gaze to the ceiling. He wasn't very comfortable with these emotions and now that it had been made clear to him that there was no chance of Kun returning them, he was determined to muffle them, lest they affect their match performances.

A thought occurred to Leo and he voiced it.

"What's it like? Playing for Independiente, I mean."

There was the sound of the bed shifting. Leo turned to look and saw Kun taking off his headphones and then rearranging himself so that he faced Leo.

"Are you playing Suzy now?" Kun asked. Though his face was cloaked in shadow, Leo swore he could see the other boy raising an eyebrow.

"I'm just curious," he said, perhaps a tad too defensive.

"It's fine," Kun reassured him, "I'm touched, even. Ah, what was the question again?"

"What's it like, playing for Independiente?"

"Nice, I guess? The competition is decent and I've been in the youth program since I was a kid so it's not totally new or anything." Kun paused, considering, "If I had any complaints, it would be that almost everyone else is a giant in comparison and Jesus Christ does it hurt when the two-ton defenders from River Plate step on your toes."

"Is everyone older than you?"

"Considering I'm the youngest player in the league, yeah."

"We're similar then," Leo blurted out. Kun tilted his head and Leo was thankful he was cloaked in as much shadow as the other, lest Kun see his blush. He continued with: "It's the same with me in Barcelona, I mean. Everyone's a lot older, a lot bigger, and I can kind of understand their frustration, but it doesn't mean they can't play dirty." It was a point of mild embarrassment, that players on Barca B and C had tried disabling him on the pitch because they had been so angry at being outplayed by some teenager from Argentina.

"Yeah, football is football, what can you say?" Kun shrugged, "Don't get me wrong, I love it, but the details will be the death of me."

Leo made a noise of agreement, watching as Kun turned so he was facing the window. When he realized he was trying to commit the sight to memory, he closed his eyes.

"I'm going to go to sleep now," Kun said.

"Good night," Leo answered, knee-jerk.

"Night."

He waited for Kun's breaths to even out. When they did, he opened his eyes and turned so he was facing the bathroom. He forced his own breaths to even out, trying not to overanalyze Kun's sleeping position, and in time, drifted off to sleep on his own.

-

The conclusion Leo came to on the morning of the first day of the tournament was that it was all too rushed to be love. He was a teenager, filled with teenage hormones, and the affection and attraction he had felt towards, say, Antonella, was naturally a different beast at age eighteen than eight (notwithstanding the fact that he was still two weeks away from turning eighteen; if Kun could round up, so could he!). But that didn't mean it was love. Furthermore, because Kun would never return his feelings (if they existed in any romantic sense), Leo intended to cull them so that his affections would be more lukewarm, like what he had felt for Antonella.

Basically, with mental fortitude, he hoped he would one day be as genuinely happy for Kun as he had been with Antonella when Kun inevitably got married and had his nine-or-ten kids.

The rules as he set out for himself were as follows:

1) He wouldn't get jealous whenever Kun hugged or kissed anyone else.

2) He would not get hard when Kun hugged or kissed him.

3) He would not fantasize about some long-term future relationship because there was no chance -- nil -- of it happening.

These were entirely logical steps and at the end of the first day, he thought he had gotten the hang of it. Because really, it wasn't as if Kun liked the other boys more than him: he said time and again he was grateful for Leo's presence. He sat with Leo for all three meals and roomed with Leo at night and used Leo's phone to call his parents... they were basically inseparable and if Kun was happy with the status quo then Leo would be happy with it too.

Then came their first match against the US with Leo being subbed in at fourty-six minutes and Kun remaining on the bench. They lost, one-nil, and it was a huge blow for morale. Training was doubled; curfew was changed to 10PM; the vending machines were strictly off-limits, and so on.

After two days spent grilling his muscles on the basics, Leo was prematurely confident. He no longer had to avert his gaze when Kun celebrated with their other teammates and hadn't masturbated with the other in-mind since that awkward incident on the plane.

And then Kun called home.

It started like all the evenings before. The two of them would head to the computer room to communicate with their families while their teammates watched television in the common room. Kun was calling his family, like he had done every night prior, and Leo was logging in to his email account.

Leo could vividly remember when Kun's voice change and it became clear something was wrong.

"Yes I'm sitting down," Kun said into the phone. And he was. He was sitting on a swivel chair, in fact.

Leo turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. Kun shrugged with his free hand, brows furrowed. And then, in the blink of an eye, all the color drained from his face.

"What," he said.

Mrs. Aguero said something; Leo couldn't make it out.

"That's impossible," Kun said, "He's a really safe driver, I -- " he bit down on his lower lip and then switched the phone so that it was propped up on his shoulder, before typing something into the computer screen.

Three things happened at once: there was a sharp intake of air from Kun; the phone dropped to the floor, and Leo stood up, curious to see what had affected the other boy so.

Kun paid him no heed, scrambling to retrieve the phone.

Leo leaned over, looking at the internet page. It was the official website for Independiente: there was a news bulletin saying the goalie Emiliano Molina was in critical condition following a car accident.

"I saw it," Kun was saying. Leo felt a hand on his shoulder, felt Kun's fingernails digging in. He clasped it and squeezed tightly, uncertain what else to do. "Oh god, how bad is it?" Leo turned to look at him, saw his face fall further. "And his parents?" Kun pressed, "His sister? His girlfriend?" He swallowed at his mother's answer and pressed forward. "What do the doctor's say?"

Whatever the answer was, Kun didn't loosen his grip on Leo's shoulder. Instead, he drew another breath and heaved a slow sigh.

"I know," he said, blinking rapidly, "I know. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, I'll pray for him. Tell -- tell his family that I'll pray for him." Another pause. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. Love you too." Then he turned off the phone and let go of Leo.

For a long time, Kun sat in his seat, cradling the phone with both hands while he stared numbly at the computer monitor.

Leo swallowed before reaching forward and gingerly touching the other boy's shoulder. Kun blinked at his touch, turning his head like a marionette from the screen to Leo's hand. Then he looked at Leo and shuddered.

"I need to go pray," he whispered.

"Okay," Leo replied. "Let's go back."

Kun nodded but made no move to stand. The cellphone was still in his hands. Leo turned off both their screens and then plucked his cellphone out of Kun's grasp. There was still no response from the other. Finally Leo grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him up, and only then did Kun move, putting one foot in front of the other in jerky jagged motions.

And so he led Kun by hand back to their room. Kun went to his bed and flopped on it, staring dazedly at the ceiling.

Leo closed the door before carefully opening his own suitcase, rooting through the inside pouch before digging up a rosary. His mother had given it to him when she had left Barcelona with the rest of the family and he had prayed with it ever since. He took said rosary and went over to Kun's bed, dangling the glass beads over Kun's face.

"You need to pray," Leo repeated.

Kun's vision focused on the rosary and he reached for it. Once his fingers were clasped around it, Leo let go. He watched on as Kun shifted into full autopilot, pushing himself up and kneeling before the window. He made the sign of the cross and then began to pray.

At the familiar recitations, Leo closed his eyes, thinking back to the news post on Independiente's website. It was obvious this Emiliano fellow was a friend and that Kun was shaken by his accident. He must have been in critical condition for it to be announced on the website, though the small blurb hardly captured any details.

In time, Kun finished, standing up and making the sign of the cross again. He was conscious enough to hand the rosary back, even muttering a quiet thank you, before he collapsed back against his bed.

Leo tucked the rosary back in his suitcase and went to wash up. When he was done, he found Kun staring wide-eyed at the ceiling again.

"Kun..." he started, and then trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He made his way over to Kun's bed and carefully sat down, reaching over to comb Kun's hair with his fingers. Kun squeezed his eyes shut at the touch and Leo withdrew his hand. He was about to get up, but Kun grabbed his shoulder, pulling himself up so that he could bury his face in Leo's back.

He felt more than heard the other boy crying. His shoulders shook and his tears wet Leo's shirt, but he didn't make a sound.

And in that moment, as wicked and irrational though it was, Leo hated the entity known as Emiliano. Already, his mind was supplying him with all the years of interaction the two of them could have had before their own meeting. Perhaps they had enrolled in the youth program at the same time? Perhaps Emiliano had debuted in the Primera Division at the same time as Kun? If they were close enough for Kun to be so affected by the news -- that Kun would ask after his family and ask _his_ family to relay to Emiliano's family his prayers -- then they were surely closer than himself and Kun. He imagined all the nights they would have bunked together, all the late-night conversations that would have kept them up. Did Kun ask the same questions of Emiliano? Did he hug and kiss him after every game, after every goal?

Fear, uncertainty, and doubt raced through Leo's mind.

In time, Kun stopped crying. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and flopped back down on the bed. Leo looked at him, at his red eyes and nose, at the thin line he had pressed his lips into, and hated this Emiliano all the more.

He must have been some kind of masochist. It was the only explanation for what he said next.

"Tell me," he prompted.

Kun blinked again before turning his head to look at Leo.

"Tell you what?" he asked.

"Tell me about him. About Emiliano."

And Kun spoke. And as he spoke, each and every one of Leo's fears was confirmed. But it was worse, worse than he had thought, because the dreams he had had about _now and forever_ that featured Kun -- Kun had felt the same towards Emiliano. Though Kun didn't say so in as much words, in his explanation of Emiliano's place and importance in his life, it was blindingly obvious to Leo that Emiliano Molina was a large part of why Kun was insistent on staying in Argentina. Because if he wanted to play on the same team as the other, if he wanted now and forever, he would have to stay with Independiente; Emiliano would never go anywhere else.

A dark voice clutched onto his heart then and he threw his noble intentions to the wind. It said a single phrase, one he dared not voice aloud.

 _If only_.


	8. And the ghosts in the attic

Chapter 8  
 **And the ghosts in the attic**

Upon hearing of Emiliano's accident, Kun experienced a crisis of faith of his own and was subsequently oblivious to Leo's turbulent mood.

Of course he remembered Emiliano. He had been Kun's first friend, back when he joined the youth system at Independiente. Although Emiliano was freakishly tall, he was only five months older than Kun and his stoicism hid a good-natured easy-going temperament which Kun had quickly discovered and come to admire. Their positions were the farthest apart, being striker and goalie, yet when Emiliano was behind him, he always felt at ease. In addition to being a freak of nature where height was concerned, the other was surprisingly fast. It was because of him that Kun learned to appreciate defense, a role he had shamefully taken either for granted or as opposition.

He didn't remember much of the first night. Just that his mother told him what happened and he checked on the Independiente website to confirm. It was like an out-of-body experience, or perhaps plain psychedelic. All he knew was that he faded in and out of consciousness that night. One minute he was in the computer room. Then he was back in their shared dormitory. One minute he was lying on the bed. And then he was crouched before the window with a foreign rosary strung between his fingers.

Leo was there. He must have been. Dimly, Kun knew it must have been Leo's rosary. But he couldn't say it, couldn't even really _think_ it. His mind was filled with hypotheticals and theoreticals, possibilities without end, enough to make his head spin.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat against the bed. The lights had been turned off and the curtains were drawn. He needed to sleep. They had a match against Egypt tomorrow and if they didn't win this one, they wouldn't make it out of their group.

Kun closed his eyes. In time, sleep came.

He dreamt of the accident. He was seated in the passenger seat. Emiliano was behind the wheel. Emiliano's sister and girlfriend were in the back. They had just come out of a concert and were joking and laughing, singing along to the late-night DJ's.

The accident happened in slow motion. He watched on, helpless, as the truck slowly crept out of the shadows. The Volkswagon too crept forward. But even though he knew what was coming, he couldn't get the words out of his throat. He couldn't do anything -- just sat and watched as Emiliano's eyes widened; as the initial contact between car and truck which seemed to Kun like a carress deepened into a proper collision; as the front window shattered, sending shards of glass into Emiliano's face.

As the passengers began to scream, Kun woke up.

His ears were ringing even though the dorms were dead silent. He drew a shakey breath and went to the bathroom. He looked like he had gotten a solid night's sleep. Enough to fool Ferraro into fielding him, he hoped. When he finished washing up, he found Leo awake and dressed. Leo held out the rosary and Kun took it, going back to the window and reciting his prayers.

 _Dear Lord, please let Emiliano live. Please spare his life. Please do not call him back so soon_.

He stood up afterwards and though he had just brushed his teeth, there was something bitter in the back of his mouth. He handed the rosary back to Leo and had enough mind to say thanks.

The day flashed by. They played against Egypt and won two-nil. Leo had scored right after half-time. Kun had been subbed in for the last thirty minutes while Leo had missed the last ten. The team was happy, Ferraro was happy, _he_ should have been happy. But the only moment where he was truly paying attention was the time after dinner when he and Leo trooped down to the computer room and he called his mother. She gave him updates on Emiliano's condition. Medical terms neither of them understood, mostly. Kun didn't ask about his family. His mother didn't ask about the match. He ended the call after fifteen minutes, feeling sick to his stomach, and Leo led him to back to their room. He heaved up dinner and then took Leo's rosary to pray.

 _Dear Lord, please let Emiliano live. Please spare his life. Please do not call him back so soon_.

-

The next morning, they were herded back onto the bus and driven to Emmen, the site of the next match. It was a short journey, less than two hours. The room assignments were the same as before though the computer room was above the dorms this time. They spent the day practicing and then called home after dinner. Once again, his mother updated him on Emiliano's condition. Once again, nothing changed. He waited for Leo to finish his email this time before following him downstairs. Again, Leo gave him the rosary and again, Kun said the same prayer.

They played against Germany the next day and beat them as well. One-nil; Kun was subbed in for the last twenty-seven minutes while Leo missed the last eight. It was always satisfying beating the Germans, second only to Brazil, and the whole team was happy and in that moment, Kun was happy too. They were shouting and jumping for joy -- clawing their way to the top of the group despite the rough start -- and he reached for the nearest teammate (Leo, of course) and hugged him tight. Leo froze in surprise at first, but was quick to return the gesture.

He talked to his mother about the game that night as she updated him on Emiliano's condition. Yesica was around as Thursday was her break day and even she admitted her friends thought Kun had played really well. He scrolled through the official announcements on the Independiente site while waiting for Leo. Then the two of them were going back and he was taking the rosary from Leo's outstretched hand and praying again.

As if to punish him for feeling any happiness at all, he dreamt of the accident again that night. This time, he was not riding in Emiliano's car. No, this time, he was the driver of the truck. There was no slow motion in this dream sequence: he watched himself drive forward and crash into the Volkswagon, watched the windows shatter and the front of the car explode. And then he was treated to the scene over and over again.

And as he was colliding with Emiliano, the medical terms his mother had dutifully recited to him came back. Severe cranio-facial damage; cerebral edema; mass brain contusion; multiple fractures; persistent hemorrhage... the list went on.

This time, he was shaken awake by Leo. Kun grabbed onto the other boy's hand; in that endless loop of the collision scene, Leo seemed to be the only solid thing in the world. He must have looked like a madman then, gasping for breath as if he'd just played the finals, but Leo didn't pull away.

Kun wanted to say something. An apology, a thank-you, an excuse -- something. But there were too many things and in the end nothing came out. He gasped for air like a fish out of water and Leo knelt down, covering his mouth.

"Breath through your nose," Leo commanded.

It was the simplest command ever but Kun couldn't do it. His body wouldn't listen; it kept trying to breathe through Leo's palm. It seemed like ages but must've been seconds. Either way, Leo took his hand away and instead moved to pinch Kun's nose. Kun continued taking great mouthfuls of air. It wasn't enough; he was certain it would never be enough.

Leo pressed their foreheads together.

"Kun," he said, "Snap out of it. Why are you so scared?"

"I can't," Kun gasped. "I can't -- I shouldn't -- " he couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't finish the thought. Leo pulled away and then he began to sing.   
He did so so softly his voice was initially drowned out by Kun's hyperventilation. But he kept singing and recognition dawned upon Kun soon enough. It was the song from Castaña and Agostini. Leo's favorite.

He snapped his mouth shut and drew a deep breath through his nose and then began to join Leo in the chorus.

On the scale of absurdities, this must have been near the peak. They were in the Netherlands for the U20, belting out _Para vivir un gran amor_ in the dead of the night. But it worked and when they finished singing, Kun was suitably calm. Calm enough to feel a wave of gratitude to Leo: he threw his arms about the other and held him close.

"What would I do without you," he sighed.

For a tremulous moment, Leo held him close, carding his fingers through Kun's hair. Then he pushed Kun away, tweaking his right ear.

"Go to sleep," Leo said. And Kun did.

-

It was becoming a pattern, Kun realized, the night they beat Colombia two-to-one. Even though he had been benched the entire game, he nonetheless felt a surge of pride and joy, especially when Leo scored ten minutes after the break. It was the first game Ferraro had let Leo play for the whole ninety minutes and Kun was happy, so happy, for his friend.

He wasn't allowed to be happy. Not while Emiliano lay in on a hospital bunk, stitched up to the nines.

His mother informed him that Emiliano had lapsed into a coma. The doctors were uncertain when or if he would wake from it. On one hand, it meant his body was still fighting to stay alive. On the other hand, the costs for treatment had risen exponentially.

(And here was another traitorous thought on his part: because the economy was better, Independiente could afford three hundred dollars per day for Emiliano, whereas five years prior Newell's refused to shell out two hundred per month for Leo.)

Kun dreamt of Independiente declining to renew Emiliano. Of them refusing the pay the indefinite expenses. He dreamt of himself stepping up to bat, as he had always wanted, as was the whole point of earning money in the first place, and keeping Emiliano alive.

Weeks, months, and then years passed. Kun visited dutifully, though he only ever talked about football. His own matches flew by the blink of an eye and then suddenly, his mother was calling him in the locker room in the middle of a match against River Plate because Emiliano had woken up.

He missed the second half to rush back to the hospital, only to find a spectre of skin and bone where the boy he knew used to be.

Emiliano cursed him for keeping him alive in this dream. Said it would have been nobler to die than to be reduced to this state. The doctors had already told him it would take months, possibly years, to recover, and still, Kun had wanted it. Wasn't this what he prayed for?

"You've done me no favors!" Emiliano screamed.

And then Kun woke up. He lifted the corner of the curtain and saw the sun peeking over the horizon. Then he rolled out of bed and went to wash up in the bathroom. He looked at his own reflection for a long hard time. It didn't matter how long he stared, he didn't see bags or bloodshot eyes. He refrained from putting a fist through his reflection, instead turning on the tap to brush his teeth.

-

Since only Leo knew about Emiliano and Leo was about as prone to gossip as a brick wall, the rest of the team didn't understand why Kun's mood was so low. Kun didn't think he was so obvious about it, but it was the only explanation for why Salorio convinced Ferraro to cut practice short in favor of "group bonding exercises". The exercise (singular) was a drawing competition.

It was cathartic, in all fairness, holding a pencil and sketchpad in-hand. Kun drew Emiliano as he remembered (and as he would most certainly never look like again) in fifteen minutes: a simple black-and-white portrait.

Leo was staring at him when he finished. It was particularly obvious because they were huddled side-by-side in the corner of the lobby turned exercise room.

"What?" Kun asked, when the other kept staring.

Leo didn't answer, though he leaned forward to get a better look at Kun's sketch. He reached out, lightly brushing his fingertips against Emiliano's cheek. Though he didn't mean to, he smudged the corners just a bit.

"Did you often draw him?" Leo asked.

"No." He paused. "Never."

"You've really got a talent for it then."

Kun laughed, mildly flattered. "I guess that can be the back-up when I can't play football _and_ can't teach English, eh?"

Leo rolled his eyes and then turned back to his own blank paper.

Kun watched, fascinated, as Leo drew lines in the air. Twice, he threw a glance at Kun and then looked back down at his paper. It was probably difficult to draw under observation, but if Leo didn't tell him to stop...

This could have continued 'till sunset, had Salorio not called out half an hour remaining in the competition. Kun looked back to the rest of their team and was surprised to find all of them were really into it. There was a pile of crumpled-up sketches between Pablo and Fernando while Julio was sketching fast enough to set the paper on fire.

"What's the matter?" Kun asked. "Can't think of anything to draw?"

Leo didn't look up at him, blushing red to the tips of his ears instead.

"I'm no good at this," he mumbled.

Kun pretended to heave a great sigh, tugging the pencil and pad out of Leo's grip. "What a troublesome older brother you are," he bemoaned, though in saying so he thought back to the handful of art projects he'd helped Gaby and Mauricio on, back when he'd been home more often. It went without saying the ones he'd helped on had been top of the class. "Alright, here goes nothing." He scooted back so he could get a good view of the pitch. Leo suddenly sat up straight, as still and stiff as a statue. Kun ignored him, sketching out the pitch as quickly as he could. It seemed like something Leo would draw.

He finished with five minutes to spare and showed his drawing to Leo. Leo's shoulders sagged and he let out a soft sigh.

"It's nice," he said. "Thanks."

"No problem," Kun answered, "It was a nice change of pace."

Surprisingly enough, Julio ended up winning the competition with Oscar as the runner-up. Julio had gone full biblical, depicting the judgment of Solomon while Oscar had managed to capture the sunset in black and white. Kun had wanted to send his sketch of Emiliano to his family when they returned home but after the competition, he couldn't find it. It didn't matter, he told himself, that kind of gift would have been in bad taste anyways.

-

On the subject of gifts, Leo's eighteenth birthday came and went. The chef at Enschede (where they had returned to in anticipation of the quarterfinals) had baked a cake and they all sang Happy Birthday for him. There was also a television conference for him in Barcelona which Kun found hilarious considering he was hundreds of kilometers away at the U20, but the long and the short of it was that Barcelona had offered him a contract with a 150 million euro buyout clause. Kun couldn't begin to imagine that kind of money, didn't even bother trying to convert it to pesos. He congratulated Leo, on both the contract and reaching eighteen, and gave the other his own gift.

Kun would always remember, how Leo's eyes went wide and then gradually softened at the edges until he was smiling, more sad than happy. It was the newest blazer from Newell's, courtesy of a very perplexed Yesica. He wanted to say something about the gift, something sappy about not giving up hope or not forgetting your home but the words lodged in his throat once Leo upped the ante with a gift of his own.

It was a white T-shirt with three words in bold caps:

 _Para Vos Emiliano_.

And all at once, he was filled with a deep gratitude, for God, for life, for the whole universe. Because time and again, he was blessed with the opportunity to meet good people. He hugged Leo tight and whispered thanks and Leo combed his fingers through Kun's hair, quietly suggesting Kun could wear the shirt underneath his jersey when he played. For Emiliano. He was moved all at once, that Leo would think of Emiliano despite never having met him, and Kun was determined to return the favor, if he had the chance of meeting any of Leo's friends.

When he told Leo this, Leo gave him an odd half-smile, noting the opportunity would come sooner than Kun thought.

-

Sooner than he thought was an understatement. The day after Leo's birthday, they played against Spain in the quarterfinals.

This match didn't have any significance to Kun and he had thought it was the same for Leo. He had been under the assumption that Leo's teammates -- like his own -- were overage for the tournament. Tt turned out however that one of Leo's classmates from Barcelona's equivalent of a youth program was present. His name was Cesc Fabregas and when they crossed paths off the pitch, he looked fit to kill. This was understandable considering Spain's 3-1 loss.

"Cocksucking motherfucker piece of Dutch trash," Cesc snarled, kicking the uncooperative vending machine.

"Ah," Leo said, as he and Kun turned the corner.

"Leo," Cesc greeted, though his eyes were hard.

"Here," Kun offered, stepping up to the vending machine and inserting a euro of his own. He chose the same selection, paprika-flavored french fries in a bag and hit enter. Two bags dropped down. He turned to Cesc, but when the other didn't move, Kun stooped down and retrieved both items, handing one to the other.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Cesc said, taking the bag.

"No problem," Kun grinned, "I like these too."

"I've never seen you eat them," Leo remarked.

Kun shrugged, "I wanted to try the new stuff first."

"And you are...?" Cesc prompted.

"Oh, right," Kun stuck out his hand, "Sergio Aguero, but everyone calls me Kun. Number nineteen for Argentina."

"Nice to meet you," Cesc nodded, taking Kun's hand and shaking it, "I don't remember seeing you today. Were you defense?"

"Nope," Kun sighed, "I was on the bench."

"Ah." Cesc paused. "Are you any good?"

"The best," Kun replied. There was a beat of silence and then he and Leo burst into giggles. Cesc followed soon after. When they had caught their breaths and relocated to the canteen, Kun opened the bag of Mini-Friets and cautiously sampled a fry. He decided he liked the taste, even though it was definitely weird to eat a room temperature french fry.

"I'm guessing it's your first time?" Cesc asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kun caught the accusation in Leo's gaze and put his hands up in mock innocence: "So I was curious about the taste! Is it a crime to try something new?"

Leo rolled his eyes and looked away, though his lips curled into an exasperated smile.

Cesc was looking at both of them oddly. With the way he was shoving fries into his mouth, it was almost as if he were at the theaters. The three of them sat at the table in silence before Leo stood up to get some water.

"You know," Cesc started, and Kun was distinctively aware he was being stared at, "I've never heard Leo mention you."

"Oh Leo's talked a lot about you," Kun replied, "You and, um... Herrard? In La Masia."

"Geri," the other corrected.

"Yup," Kun nodded. He actually really liked Cesc's style of football and decided, since he was Leo's friend and on the Spanish national team, there was a high chance they would see one another again, he might as well say so. So he did: "You played really well today."

Cesc snorted at that, tipping the bag against his mouth and munching on the crumbs. "Flatterer," he said.

"Maybe," Kun grinned, "But I'm not a liar. I know good football when I see it."

Leo came back then with three cups of water and they thanked him. Cesc crumpled up the empty bag while Kun offered Leo some of his fries. Kun couldn't help noticing how Cesc's eyebrows shot up when Leo took a fry out.

"What?" he asked, feeling oddly self-conscious.

"Okay I've got to ask," Cesc blurted out, "How long have you guys known each other?"

"About a month," Kun answered.

"Twenty-eight days," Leo said at the same time. Then he noticed both Cesc and Kun were staring at him and he flushed, ducking his head. He mumbled something about getting something else at the vending machine before excusing himself.

"Uh," Kun said, turning back to Cesc and shrugging. It wasn't the first time Leo left in the middle of a conversation, though he figured he would have stayed a bit longer with his childhood friend and all. "Sorry about that?" he tried.

"Twenty-eight days," Cesc repeated, staring at him in disbelief.

Kun tried putting himself in the other boy's shoes. Surely he would be perturbed if Emiliano was suddenly buddy-buddy with someone from, say, the Boca Juniors. Ignoring the stab of guilt that bubbled up whenever he thought of Emiliano, he launched into a recount of how grateful Leo had been -- because he had said so -- to the two of them at La Masia and how he probably wouldn't see Leo outside of national tournaments what with playing in Argentina and all.

"Wait wait wait," Cesc held up a hand, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not angry or anything. Well, I mean," he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm pissed off about the loss, but not about Leo making a new friend. Geri was beside himself angsting that he'd be mute the next time we saw him, you know?"

"Not really," Kun admitted.

"Huh," Cesc said.

Their conversation was interrupted when the manager of the Spanish team called for Cesc. He stood up and tossed the empty fries bag into the trash, leaving with a declaration that Spain would be avenged in due time. Soon after that, Leo returned with a bag of tortilla chips from the same vending machine. Kun informed him of Cesc's promise-slash-threat and Leo quirked his lips upon hearing it. Then Kun ate like half the bag of chips because he preferred them to room temperature fries (even if they could've used salsa) and Leo let him.

-

He dreamt that Emiliano had recovered that night. That he had been discharged from the hospital right around when Kun returned from the Netherlands. He looked as Kun had remembered, tall and tan and with that slow secretive smile. And then it had morphed into a scowl, an expression he had never seen Emiliano wear, and Emiliano was pushing him away and throwing things at him and cursing him anew because the doctors had told him he was unable to play football and what was life without football -- how could it be called _living_ without the sport?

When Kun woke in the middle of the night, he was filled with a terrible certainty that if they won the final, Emiliano would die. It was ridiculous of course, just like the dreams themselves. He had never taken his dreams seriously, starting from when he was twelve years old. He had dreamt of saving Gilda from her doom and how she would go on to write a song in his honor. He knew this, but it didn't stop the dread from wrapping itself about him, bubbling from his chest up to his throat.

Kun dashed to the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet. He was washing out the taste of bile from his mouth when Leo appeared behind him.

"Tell me what's wrong," Leo demanded, cornering him against the sink. Despite the difference in their heights, he somehow managed to seem taller then.

Kun grit his teeth and swallowed.

"Tell me Kun," Leo pressed. He reached up and squeezed Kun's shoulder.

"I shouldn't be here," Kun whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't have come here," he repeated, and it suddenly made so much sense. "If I had stayed in Buenos Aires, I would have played with Emiliano. We would have won that match and he wouldn't have gone out so late."

He was brought out of his reverie when Leo's grip tightened. It was only when Kun winced at the pain that Leo took his hand away.

"It's never that simple," Leo murmured, shaking his head. "And you should have more faith in the doctors. They can do fantastic things now, I mean, look at me." He grinned weakly and Kun grinned weakly back.

"You're right," Kun said, bending his head forward to rest against Leo's shoulder. "You're right," he repeated, pulling away before Leo could comfort him further. "I'm here already and there's no turning back." He shook his head, trying to clear it of such morbid thoughts. "We have to win, Leo. We have to."

Leo nodded, lips were set in a grim line. He led Kun out of the bathroom. As soon as Kun fell on the bed, sleep overtook him. He was tired, so tired. Tired of the updates that never meant anything, tired of asking for the same thing, tired of the dreams, tired of the guilt, just tired. And so, when Leo's phone rang four hours later, he didn't wake up.

Leo took the call instead. He went to the bathroom and closed the door. Then he opened it and woke Kun up. It was a ten minutes past six and neither of them had gotten enough sleep.

"Leo?" Kun asked, blinking blearily at the other. Leo had turned on the lights inside the bedroom.

"Kun, sit up," was all Leo said.

"What is it?" Kun was immediately alert. He blinked the sleep from his vision, focusing on Leo's expression. It was pointedly blank and he felt his stomach sink. "Leo -- " he started, as Leo sat on his bed and took both his hands.

"Kun," Leo said again, dropping his head. "Kun, I am so sorry. I am so so so sorry."

It was as if they were in one of his dream seqeunces then. He could see Leo's mouth moving, could see how his lips parted to form each word and every syllable. The sounds were delayed however, so that what his mouth was saying and what Kun ended up hearing didn't match up.

He drew a breath and let it go. He was aware of Leo squeezing onto his hands. He knew he ought to cry. He ought to pray. He ought to call his mother and either forward his wishes to the Molinas or somehow get in touch with them himself. But all he could do in that moment was concentrate on how what Leo was saying didn't match up; it was like Leo was the main character from Kun's namesake animation, where the characters' mouths sometimes moved even when they weren't talking.

"When?" he asked at last. It was like coming to the surface after nearly drowning.

"An hour ago. Your mom called. She didn't want you to hear it on the phone."

"Oh," Kun said, and that was the end of that. He pulled his hands out of Leo's grasp and leaned back to rest fully against the mattress. Then he closed his eyes and tried his damndest not to dream. After a pregnant pause, he felt Leo leave his side. There followed the flick of the light switch and a creak from the opposite mattress.

-

The immediate aftermath was a blur. He knew he got up for breakfast and then training. He knew he called his mother after dinner. But he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what he had eaten, what he done, or even what he had said. Condolences, he hoped. Leo offered him the rosary again when it was the two of them in the dorm room but Kun shook his head, not daring himself to speak. It was impious, it was arrogant beyond belief, but he did not want to pray.

For the first time since the accident, Kun pulled out his Walkman and slid the headphones over his ears. He was aware of Leo's judgmental stare but he didn't have anything to say to him either. He would miss Emiliano's funeral. He would miss the wake too. He clenched his fists, concentrating on the melody, but this song was a sad one, all about love and loss, and the regret nearly drowned him.

When the disc finished, he opened his eyes and found Leo knelt down by his bed. He sat facing the window as the rosary made its way around his hand. When he came full circle, he made the sign of the cross and stood up.

Kun only found his voice when Leo was back in his own bed, having washed up and turned off the lights.

"What were you praying for?" he asked. It was such a far cry from their usual routine of light-hearted questions.

"For his soul."

Leo's tone was even; for all it belied Kun might as well have been asking what the weather tomorrow would be like. Still, Kun felt an undercurrent of accusation and bit down on his bottom lip.

"You didn't know him," he said at last. It was a cruel but weak retort.

He thought he saw Leo shrug his shoulders in the dark.

"No," Leo agreed, "But you did."

Kun was beginning to question whether he had truly known Emiliano. For the Emiliano he knew was a cautious fellow. He wouldn't have been out at such an hour. But then, it had been three, maybe four years, since they had truly played on the same team. An even darker voice asked if the God who refused to save Emiliano's flesh could be called upon to save his soul. Rather than continue the conversation, he turned on his side so that he was facing the window. A dreamless slumber took him soon enough.

-

The day after the news came, their team was herded yet again onto the bus, traveling this time from Enschede to Utrecht for the semifinal match against Brazil. Everyone was in high spirits, save for the two of them, but because Kun had yet to score a goal (or indeed do anything noteworthy during the tournament), the gifted undershirt remained unseen and no one save for Leo knew the reason behind his dark mood.

He swung between gratitude that Leo chose to mope with him and frustration because Leo hadn't known Emiliano and thus had no reason to mourn. With no small amount of guilt, Kun recalled his own reactions to the death of Lucas, another promising goalkeeper from Independiente. He hadn't known Lucas well, hadn't had the chance to meet him on the pitch so to speak. In fact, he remembered hoping Emiliano might take his place. Which just went to show, even though he had a lot to be grateful for, he was still a miserable excuse of a person at the end of it.

What he really wanted to do was call Emiliano's family. They knew him well enough; he had gone over to the other boy's house a couple times back when they were in the youth squad together. But he had no idea what to say to them, any condolences he came up with seemed banal and impersonal. He was also scared of impinging on their grief. The window of opportunity remained, he told himself, so long as he scored a goal and dedicated it to Emiliano. Then he would call the Molinas and properly tell them how sorry he was.

The goal never came.

Ferraro subbed him in during the last ten minutes of the match against Brazil. They won of course, in part due to Leo's fantastic goal in the first ten minutes, and Kun was happy for his friend and for his team, he really was. But a larger _louder_ part was frustrated with himself and his own lackluster performance during the tournament. Ferraro had let him play on three separate occasions, totalling nearly an hour's worth of playing time. And still, he had no goals, no assists, no penalties -- nothing to show for it. And no reason to dedicate anything to Emiliano nor anything unique to tell his family.

As expected, on the evening after their victory against Brazil, he dreamt of Emiliano again. Perhaps the Lord was taking pity on him; perhaps his own conscious was softening the grief. Either way, he dreamt of how things would have been, had he declined Ferraro's invitation to attend the tournament.

It was strikingly clear, as all his recent dreams had been, but free of the speeding-up or slowing-down of the nightmares. Kun was treated to a smattering of scenes: he would have gone home straight from Cordoba and celebrated his seventeenth birthday with his family in the garden. There would've been a great roast; his mother always made the best roasts and she kept telling him that she would teach him the secret family recipe once he turned eighteen. Well, Yesica turned eighteen and though she was an excellent cook, she had been swayed to vegetarianism and thus had no interest in learning how to make a roast. Anyways, after his birthday they would have celebrated Gastón's birthday. Gastón would demand his usual spoils from Kun: first choice of teams for PES, sleeping on the top bunk, and a round of football with Kun as the goalie.

Because of that game, Kun was reminded of Emiliano and properly called him up. He then invited him over after the Sunday service and they played PES until late evening. And then, to return the favor, Emiliano would have invited Kun in lieu of his sweetheart's brother to go out with them on the night of the accident. And Kun, being the prudish "I keep saying I'm playing football as a hobby because I'm too scared to announce I want to play for as long as I live" spoilsport he was herded them here and there, entertaining them with jokes, stories, and recent cumbia numbers. He wasn't a teetotaler by any means but his father had impressed upon him the importance of associating alcohol with celebration and not misery. And so it was that, as soon as he saw the shadow in Emiliano's eyes, he took them on a whirlwind tour of the newest cumbia bars of the capital.

The four of them: Emiliano, himself, Rosalina, and Caroline (Emiliano's girlfriend and sister respectively), laughed and chatted the night away. And then because there wasn't any alcohol to say otherwise, Emiliano announced he would send them all back at midnight. He dropped Rosalina off first, then Caroline, and then Emiliano drove him back home in the Volkswagon.

And only then -- as Emiliano was joking about how Caroline _still_ had a crush on him and if Kun didn't try his damndest to let her down gently he would be punched into next Tuesday and Kun was answering half-serious half-joking that maybe he wouldn't have to let her down at all now that she had just turned fifteen and all -- did Kun realize it was all a dream. He saw it in the wistful quirk of Emiliano's lips, a mirror of his own expression, and in that realization, as he reached out across the car to touch his friend, the dream ended.

Kun woke in bed with his arm stretched out to the ceiling. He was in the dorm room in Utrecht and they had four days of rest (read: practicing like they had never practiced in their lives) before the final against Nigeria.

He closed his hand around thin air, just to underscore that it was only a dream, and felt another pang of frustration. With the bravado of a seventeen-year-old in the middle ground between dawn and day, he made himself a promise. It wasn't so much a promise as a prayer in the form of a bargain: _Oh Lord_ , he thought, _if I do not contribute anything to the final as well (and by 'contribution' he meant goal... but an assist was acceptable too) then I will take it as a sign that I should stop playing football._

As soon as it was done, Kun sat up. He was wide awake from the weight of his demand. His childish side tried desperately to renege: he hadn't said the words aloud, he hadn't been properly praying, he hadn't even made a cross for it! Even as the excuses spilled forth, he knew he could not. It was the first time he had prayed since Emiliano's passing. He promised himself -- properly making the cross this time -- that regardless of the result, he would call the Molinas and express his condolences, insufficient though they might be.

(In all fairness, it was not the first time he had made absurd football-related demands of the Lord. Back when he was forever waiting in the wings to join Independiente, he made a similar oath: _If Ruggeri doesn't sub me in this season then I'm quitting_. Quitting football or quitting Independiente, his fifteen-year-old self hadn't specified but if God cared for him and/or cared for football, then he heard Kun's prayer then and acquiesced. It was foolish, he knew, to hope for a similar miracle here -- if he were Ferraro, he wouldn't even sub himself in for the final -- but hope he still did.)

With this newfound determination, he got out of bed and went to wash up. He had four days to prove himself wrong -- four days to convince Ferraro to field him for the final. The clouds hadn't lifed, but it was a step in the right direction.

-

The four days between the semifinal and the final flew by. Kun had done his all and it was a sort of satisfaction in itself, to know that he had done his best and even the other players had taken note of his renewed spirits. Ferraro was still making adjustments to the line-up for the final but Kun was reasonably certain he would have the chance to play.

It was understandable then, that Leo was the one who ended up suffering from nerves the night before the final.

Kun heard the tell-tale sound of retching in the bathroom and went over to see. Sure enough, there was Leo down on his knees trembling before the toilet. Leo spat and then wiped his mouth. He took a series of shuddering breaths while digging his fingers into the edges of the porcelain bowl before turning to look at Kun.

"You played well," he said, "Good job."

Kun snorted. Of course Leo would try to raise his spirits while his own were in the gutter.

"I don't want to hear this from the asshole who scored a double hattrick," he sighed, going over to the other and pulling him up.

"What can I say?" Leo chuckled, "The defenders were wide open. The goal was practically calling for me."

"Oh yeah?" Kun asked, taking the bulk of the other boy's weight and maneuvering both of them back to the bedroom. "What was it saying? No, wait, let me guess -- was it 'oh Leo, shoot it in'? or maybe 'three times wasn't nearly enough you bad boy'?" He waggled his eyebrows for effect and Leo burst out laughing, though he was blushing bright red.

"I said practically, not actually," Leo stressed.

"Oh?" Kun helped him into bed as Leo had done for him so many nights before. "So was the goal just making doe eyes at you?"

"Shut up," Leo answered, chuckling still. He shifted so Kun could pull the blankets up over him.

"You were fantastic, boludo," Kun praised. In this moment, he could only concentrate on how young Leo looked, tucked into bed with the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow. "Those Africans won't know what hit them."

"Kun, I want us to win so bad," Leo confessed. He darted his hand out of the blankets, twining his fingers with Kun's.

"You think I don't want us to win?" he asked, raising his eyebrow as he let Leo tug him into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

"You want Argentina to win."

Kun didn't really know what to say at that. He felt himself growing hot around the ears and squeezed Leo's hand instead.

"I want it too," he said at last, when Leo kept staring at him and they were surely embarking on a tomato look-alike competition at this point. For a moment, he was tempted to tell Leo the promise he had made with himself, but then he remembered how much pressure the other was under, how everyone expected him to carry the team. So he swallowed and said the same thing again, "I want us to win too."

Leo squeezed his hand back and then asked in a choked voice: "If you're called up for the World Cup, will you go?"

"Of course!" Kun took his hand out to gently box Leo's ear, "What kind of question is that!"

"Okay," Leo sighed and then smiled. "Because I'm going to be twenty the next time this tournament comes around. So I just..." he looked away, flushing again, "I don't want this to be the last time."

Kun was acutely reminded of Emiliano then. Of all the promises they had made in their youth. Of the dozens of games he wouldn't ever have the chance to play. If -- if he were still alive, there was a high chance he would have made the call for the 2007 U20. He couldn't anything then, he just nodded mutely and tried his best to blink back tears.

Leo pushed himself up and hugged him. Kun kept himself from crying at least, though it didn't stop the wave of embarrassment. This was his one chance to comfort Leo, to provide some emotional recompense for all the times Leo had been there for him throughout the tournament. And here he was, getting weepy over Emiliano and having Leo comfort him yet again.

"You'll wear the shirt underneath?" Leo asked.

"Yes."

"Good." Leo kissed him on the cheek before pushing him to his own bed. "Good night Kun."

"Good night Leo," Kun answered, slipping into his own bed before turning off the lights. "And thanks for everything."

-

There was a God and he loved Kun. And Kun loved him in return, even if he had a weird sense of humor. He was given the chance to make a contribution in the final. As predicted, Ferraro had been impressed with his practice matches and had him subbed in within the first ten minutes of the second half. But the contribution was neither goal nor assist but a penalty shot. A penalty shot which Leo took and made, thus pulling their team ahead of Nigeria with but fifteen minutes to spare. And yes, it cost them three yellow cards but at least the Nigerians got two. And most importantly: they _won_.

Kun stripped off his jersey as soon as time was called. Leo ran to him, hugging him tight.

"Congratulations," Leo said. It should have been a cheer but he was too breathless for it to be any louder than a whisper.

"Congratulations yourself," Kun replied.

They broke apart and looked at one another and then burst out laughing. Then the rest of their team ran over and cameras and reporters swarmed about them and it didn't matter because they had won, because he had helped, because he was wearing a shirt that said _Para vos Emiliano_ on national television and even if Emiliano's folks weren't watching, Kun swore he would get a recording of the match and show it to them.

And like that, the words which had been stuck in the back of his throat for the past week were dislodged and he knew what he wanted to say to them.

_I haven't forgotten._

_I haven't forgotten and I never will._

There was a huge celebration and talks of radio and television appearances. Leo won Player of the Match and was subsequently nominated by the AFA as Player of the Year. There had been a huge cake topped with blueberries and bananas and frosted in alternating layers of white and yellow. The baker had even topped it off with a sugar-spun golden sun. The older boys drank beer and wine; Ferraro and Salorio toasted one another and all of them over whiskey; and despite being underage, he and Leo were treated to a flask of champagne, courtesy of the Juan and Julio of course.

After three hours of being feted, wined, and dined, a very drunk Lucas suggested a game of strip spin-the-bottle at half past ten (or roundabouts) which Kun and Leo indulged in. In the spirit of fraternity, their teammates ganged up on them, flicking the bottle just so -- so that, four out of five times, it would land on either one of them.

At eleven PM, Leo was down to his briefs and socks while Kun had only his briefs remaining. In contrast, Pablo -- who was in third place -- had only lost his blazer, tie, and shirt.

Leo was looking at him with a mischievous glint and Kun had drunk enough champagne that understanding didn't immediately come. See, there had been an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they would try their damndest to spin the bottle so it was pointing at anyone else. It wasn't a difficult feat in itself but nonetheless impossible for them to win considering it was nineteen against two (with Juan and Oscar as reluctant referees because what was a game without them?).

Kun finally understood when Leo flicked the bottle just so.

It landed on him.

"You -- you -- " he was so surprised he didn't even know what to say. Leo's expression meant he had to say something though. "You absolute traitor!" Kun ended up snarling as the other boys exploded in whoops and cheers. _Take it off, take it off, take it off_ , they all chanted. Leo was still staring at him, practically daring him to storm out, and Kun stuck out his tongue before standing up and yanking his briefs off. There was a veritable torrent of catcalls and Kun was tipsy enough to decide tossing his briefs at Leo's face was a good idea.

And then it was his turn to spin the bottle and whoever said vengeance was best served cold must have never been handed the opportunity to serve it hot. Basically: he spun the bottle, it landed on Leo, Leo took off his socks and then, because Juan sprinted down with the warning that Salorio was coming to check on the source of the commotion, someone snapped a hasty photo of the two of them in their birthday glory and afterwards everyone scrambled back upstairs.

-

"Sorry," Leo said, as soon as Kun closed the door behind them. He was bright-red again and looking intently at a spot behind Kun's shoulder.

"What for?" Kun asked.

Leo made an up-and-down gesture which Kun assumed to be their mutual states of undress. Kun laughed at that.

"I guess this is back-up plan number three?" he joked, winking.

Leo licked his lips, flushing deeper, and continued staring at the door. "What?" he croaked.

"You know," Kun snickered, "Stripping."

"You would never have to resort to _that_ ," Leo said hotly, making eye contact at last. There was an edge to both his tone and gaze which was at-ends with how hot his face had become (courtesy of the alcohol they had illicitly consumed).

"I know, I know," Kun quickly answered, putting up his hands. "It was just a joke. If it did come down to it, it'd be a race between Yesica and my mom to see who'd skin me alive first!"

"I hope you play football forever and ever," Leo said instead. His voice was still humorless, but at least his eyes had softened.

"Me too," Kun admitted, because he was in such high spirits after their win. It was the first time he had admitted as much to anyone else. Of course it would be Leo. Leo, who he had known for a month (and who probably knew how many days even with the champagne) yet it felt like they had been friends all their lives. Leo, who would probably die in the stadium with a ball at his feet.

They stared at one another for a while. Normally Leo would burst out laughing and Kun would follow suit but then again, normally they weren't naked and near-naked. Finally, Kun closed the distance, kissing Leo on the cheek.

"I hope we both do," he murmured. And then, because he couldn't be _that_ serious, not when he was feeling _this_ good, he added: "But if not: you, me, English students, and cattle, okay?"

Leo snapped out of his reverie then, snorting with laughter before pushing Kun towards the bathroom. Kun went, laughing all the while.

-

He exited the bathroom swathed in towels. Leo rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose but elected to shower anyways.

While Kun was drying off his hair, Leo's cellphone rang. As Leo kept in touch with his family via e-mail (an absurdity if you asked Kun), Kun went over to see who was calling. Sure enough, it was a call from his home phone.

"Hi Mom," he said, picking up the phone.

"Kun!" His mother answered, and Kun could hear her joy and pride across the continent, "Kun, congratulations! You did so well!"

He smiled at that, remembering how she had been blown away by his debut match.

"Thanks, mom."

"Kun, Émi's family was watching the final with us," his mother started. Kun froze; the bathroom door opened; Leo exited and raised an eyebrow at the scene. He made a gesture with his hand and Kun nodded. _It's my mom_ , he mouthed, to which Leo smiled. Then he went to lie on his bed.

"Kun?" his mother asked. "Are you there?"

"Yes, mom." He paused, trying to work through his rehearsed lines, "Did... did they see?" he heard himself dumbly ask.

"Of course they saw! Anna's beside herself -- oh! Anna, Kun on is on the line, would you -- "

And then before he had recalled all he wanted to say, Emiliano's _mother_ took the phone.

"Hello Sergio," she greeted. Kun had seen her dozens of times over the years. Not so much recently as he and Emiliano were no longer fixtures in each other's homes, but he still recognized her voice. It was softer and sweeter in his memories. He felt his own immaturity acutely then -- for what sort of words could _he_ say to give comfort to a bereaved parent?

"Hello, Mrs. Molina," he answered on-instinct. In the corner of his eye, he saw Leo stiffen, turning to Kun with a questioning expression. Kun forced a smile, waving his hand casually. "How are you?" he asked, continuing on autopilot, and then instantly cursed himself, because what the hell was that to ask? "I mean," he stammered, "I mean, I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry." Leo was staring at him then, concern written over his face, and Kun wanted to apologize to him too, for recycling his condolences.

"Oh Sergio," Mrs. Molina said, and her voice cracked and he could practically see her crying and he thought of Emiliano, as he had seen him last -- God, it must have been half a year ago, maybe more -- and how he had beamed at Kun, how, from the bottom of his heart, he had been _happy_ for Kun. And Kun felt his own eyes water.

"I -- " she started and then stopped. There was a heartbreaking sob on the other end and Kun squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image. Emiliano had been their only son. Meanwhile his family had three.

While his eyes were closed, Leo moved from his bed to Kun's, looping his arms around Kun's shoulder from the back and hugging him tight. Kun drew a deep breath at the contact right as there was a shuffling sound on the phone.

"Kun, it's me," his mother said.

"Hi Mom," Kun said again, though his voice wavered.

"I just wanted to let you know we all saw your match. And Émi's family was touched -- touched that you would honor him so."

"It was nothing," Kun blubbered, "I didn't do anything. I -- "

"It meant a lot to them," his mother interrupted. Her voice was sharp. "And _you_ meant a lot to him."

"I will never ever forget him," Kun choked out. His shoulders were shaking and were Leo not holding onto him, he would have doubled over from his own grief. "Never ever. Tell them that. Tell them that, please."

"I know, Kun."

"For my next goal, I'll -- "

"Kun, Kun, shhh," his mother hushed, taking on a more familiar no-nonsense tone, "I want to hold you and kiss you darling, you know I do. But you're so far away and alone, all I can tell you is stay safe. And no going out late, you hear!"

Kun laughed at that, though he was crying still.

"I won't, Mom." He drew a shuddering breath and raised a hand to awkwardly pat Leo's head. "Besides, Leo is with me."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"Well put him on then!"

Kun covered the mouthpiece and turned to Leo. "My mom wants to talk to you," he said. Leo raised his head, surprised, but let go of Kun to take his cellphone back. Kun slumped into the mattress, assaulted with memories of Emiliano. He hadn't been like Kun's other teammates, both in the youth league and on the first team proper, and Kun... Kun hadn't appreciated him enough for that. He was so overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse, he couldn't even concentrate on what Leo was telling his mother.

He had stopped crying at least when Leo passed the phone back, and he was coherent enough to warble out a good-bye. Then he was handing the phone to Leo and practically throwing himself on top of him.

"Thank you," he said, as all the gratitude he hadn't properly expressed towards Emiliano flowed out. "Thank you so much for -- for everything."

Leo hugged him back, as he always did, and angled his head so that his chin rested on Kun's forehead.

At once, Kun was hit with how _dependent_ he had become towards Leo throughout the trip. Leo had always indulged him, practically fretting over him at times, but the realist in Kun knew it could not last. Not even a week. The team would be flying back to Argentina first thing in the morning as Mrs. Ferraro didn't want a repeat of Amsterdam, and Leo would be heading from Buenos Aires to Rosario while Kun would start up practice with Independiente in anticipation of the next season. And then Leo would head back to Spain and Kun would stay in Argentina.

He pulled himself away abruptly. He kissed Leo's cheek and exchanged a hasty good-night, falling into his sheets and not lifting his head even as Leo moved back to his bed and eventually turned off the lights.

-

As expected, he dreamt of Emiliano that night.

In pattern with the dream after the match against Brazil, Emiliano himself was the star of the dream. This was a particularly fanciful one where both of them had been called for the U20. And even though Emiliano remained benched for the duration of the tournament, he was still there. Kun roomed with him, of course, and he ran to him at the end of the final, throwing his arms about him and weeping at the impossibility of it all.

"Why are you crying?" Emiliano asked him, wiping Kun's tears away. "You should be happy. We won."

"But you died," Kun answered, unable to say anything else.

"I did," his friend nodded. "And I'm sorry to go, you don't doubt that, do you?" Kun shook his head fervently, holding onto him all the tighter.

"Kun," Emiliano sighed, ruffling his hair. "Kun, look at me."

"I can't," Kun insisted, shaking his head again.

"I'm no Eurydice for crying out loud," the other boy sighed. He pushed Kun lightly and Kun went, slowly lifting his head to properly look at the other. The dream Emiliano was just as Kun remembered him: warm eyes paired with a kind smile that was all framed by soft curls of hair. "You see?" Emiliano pressed after Kun had gotten a good look.

"But you're dead," Kun said.

"I am."

"And I wasn't there."

"You weren't."

"Oh Émi," Kun lamented, using the pet name at last as he once more threw himself against the other, "I'm so sorry. I never wrote to you, never called, I just -- I didn't think of you enough and now you're gone and even if I dedicated every goal I ever scored to you, it -- "

"I don't want every goal," Emiliano sniffed, "Save that for your sweetheart, won't you?"

"I don't have one, asshole," Kun retorted, though his voice was muffled by Emiliano's jersey.

"No reason to not get one," he shrugged, "You've got enough fans."

"Idiot," Kun cursed.

Emiliano smelled of grass and dirt, as Kun himself no doubt did. Kun drew a deep breath, trying to commit the familiar scent to memory, before he pulled away once more. He couldn't go entirely though, and his hands were still wrapped around Emiliano's forearms. It reeked of helpless desperation and Emiliano smiled at it.

"You won't come back?" Kun tried, digging his fingers in.

The other shook his head. "No," he said, "I won't." _I can't_ , Kun heard.

"No matter what I do?" Kun pressed, "Even if I beg and scream and cry?"

"Even if you beg and scream and cry." Emiliano grinned then, poking Kun's cheek. "You big crybaby."

"Shut up you idiot," Kun snarled, tightening his hold as his vision blurred yet again. "You idiot, I hate you, why'd you have to do, you haven't even _done_ anything yet, you were going to be the best and now look where you are!" He ranted for what seemed like ages and Emiliano -- patient, kind, and sweet Emiliano -- let him. When it was over and Kun was holding onto the other more for support than desperation, Emiliano spoke.

"Do you still love football?" he asked.

"What the fuck kind of question is that!"

"Do you?"

"I do. You know that you bastard. You know that best of all. Even if they cut off my legs, even if they took my eyes, I would still love it."

"Then keep playing." Emiliano ruffled his hair again. "And I'll keep watching. Because I love the football that you play."

"Stay," Kun begged. "Please, Émi, stay. I can't -- not without you -- _please_."

The dream ended and his eyes snapped open. He stared at the speckled ceiling of the dorm room in Utrecht. He turned to the side and saw Leo still asleep, then looked up at the clock which read 4:30. They would be leaving for Amsterdam in an hour's time. He went to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. There were dried tear tracks down his cheeks, though his eyes weren't red.

Emiliano's expression came to mind and Kun spent several minutes trying to rearrange his features in a similar light. Sometime after the tenth try, a muscle clicked into place and he had it. He looked at himself -- at his mirror image which was wearing Emiliano's smile -- and felt awash with relief.

Emiliano, uniquely, had never envied him. He had felt nothing but friendship and goodwill towards Kun in all the years they had known one another (indeed, the only argument they ever had, though it lasted the whole of their friendship, was whether defense or offense was more important in the 1986 World Cup), and he would have never blamed Kun for things being what they were. And didn't Kun, in striving to honor the memory of his friend, have a responsibility to remember him as he really was and not a bitter contemptuous figment of his own overactive imagination?

When he went back to bed, Leo had already gotten up. He was seated on the edge of his bed, fiddling with his cellphone.

"Morning," Kun greeted.

"Morning," Leo answered.

"Thanks again," Kun said. "Really."

Leo flushed lightly and shook his head. "It was nothing," he insisted, voice gruff, "I was happy to do it." Then he stood up and hurried to the bathroom, leaving Kun to pack.

-

The flight from Amsterdam to Frankfurt was uneventful as expected. The flight from Frankfurt to Buenos Aires was significantly less turbulent than the flight to, so much so that Kun was able to sit next to the window the whole time. His teammates teased him for being a kid, even though some of the other guys were flying international for the first time too. Leo, like the mother hen he had somehow ended up being, ascertained Kun was calm and promptly fell asleep with his head cushioned on Kun's shoulder. Kun fell asleep too and the next thing he knew, the PA was announcing their descent into the capital and so they arrived _home_.

Someone -- Salorio, he later learned -- had arranged it so their families would meet them at the airport. So it was there were no drawn-out farewells; he and Leo parted ways almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, running towards their respective families to the blinding shutters of the press. The whole team was jostled to half a dozen interviews before they were allowed to leave, though Leo had additional interviews, what with being nominated for Argentinian Player of the Year and all.

As expected, Kun was sorry to see him go, though he was ecstatic to see his family again. He had missed them, and talking on the phone was no excuse for the real thing, especially since he couldn't twirl Gaby or kiss Daiana and Mayra or kick Gaston and Mauricio's asses both on the pitch and in FIFA (thus fulfilling his Older Brother Responsibility Quota for the month) or have the life hugged out of him by a blustering Yesica. He was happy and grateful, truly, and he made sure to give thanks to Julio and Juan for giving him the opportunity to buy souvenirs.

While recovering from jetlag, he caught up with his extended family. Surrounded by cousins, aunts, and uncles, who all wanted to shake his hand and get a photo and hear how he managed to get the penalty which won them the final, Kun was hit with a wave of delayed homesickness. Then and there he knew: Argentina -- not Buenos Aires or even Independiente -- would always be home. It was funny, how flying out of the country made him realize that.

The pieces all came together when the Molinas invited him to Sunday lunch. Kun went of course, and he was thankful for the chance to meet them face-to-face, but he couldn't shake off how weird it was, that Emiliano wasn't around. His family home hadn't changed much; Mrs. Molina still tended to orchids while Mr. Molina had the beginnings of a vineyard in the garden. Isobel still loved pop music and make-up, though the grief had muted her -- had muted all of them, really. There was an altar for Emiliano at the head of the table. After lunch, Kun lit a candle and prayed for him. Then Mrs. Molina led him to Emiliano's room -- way too freakishly clean for a boy of seventeen -- and though there was a whole shelf devoted to Maradona and another split half-and-half between Erico and Seoane and another album for Maria (Kun chuckled to see Emiliano had marked out all the spots they had driven to), there was nonetheless an album for him. For his matches.

Emiliano had watched every single match he had ever played in. Kun took the album, leafing through and reliving his own games. The last filled page in the album -- which was less than a quarter full -- was a handwritten note about their first group match against the US.

 _Kun benched the whole match. Ferraro is wasting a valuable resource!_ , it said.

It was one album in many and still he was touched. This meant something, he was certain. All the dreams too, had meant something. His life had been spared from the get-go and God had blessed him with football on top of that. Who was Kun to resent him for taking Emiliano? He had been blessed an uncountable number of times and at age seventeen, though he was neither father nor husband, he was all the same filled with determination, determination to follow in Emiliano's footsteps where Leo was concerned. Kun closed the album and set it back on the shelf. Then he hugged Emiliano's mother and repeated his former promise.

He would never forget. Never ever. And even if every goal wasn't for Emiliano, in his heart of hearts, he remembered Emiliano's last words. They were scribbled to him on a postcard from Rio.

_Keep playing. I love the football you play._


	9. (They never quite leave)

Chapter 9  
 **(They never quite leave)**

After thrashing Liechtenstein four-nil, Cesc was in pretty good spirits. Yes, it was Liechtenstein; yes, it was just a friendly; yes, he didn't score any goals of his own. But god _damn_ did it feel good watching their national team at work; even though they were spread across half a dozen clubs (with Iker and Puyol at each other's throats) when push came to shove, they came through, if not for each other then for the team. For the country. He knew it; they knew it; but it was still reassuring to see it.

David Villa and Fernando Torres were absolute beasts; though they had six and three years on him respectively, he was reasonably confident he could reach their level. Maybe even surpass them.

So of course he was flattered when Villa invited him -- along with the rest of the team -- back to Valencia for a post-match celebration. He was sorely tempted to tag along, to drink and make merry with the idols, but unfortunately, he had already made plans.

See, the very next day, Argentina and Brazil would be playing a friendly. And the match would take place at the Emirates Stadium in London. AKA the home field of Arsenal. So of course the whole team was called back -- the ones that didn't have international friendlies of their own -- and of course Cesc answered the call. It had been months since he had last seen Leo and though he had heard plenty about him via Puyol and Iniesta, the stories were incomparable to the real thing.

Cue him flying from Badajoz to London via Madrid to spectate the match.

He wasn't the only one interested in the match-up of the South American giants; the stadium was absolutely _packed_ , nearly sixty thousand people swarming the stands, drowning the bleachers in white, blue, green, and gold. It was like every expat from Sudama had come crawling out of the woodwork!

At that point in time, he didn't make it a practice of watching matches. It was painful enough watching his own matches -- all those careless errors, all the times he failed to play _beautifully_ \-- but watching other people play was an exercise in frustration: he wanted to be out on the pitch; that ought to be his feet moving the ball. He was nineteen years old and a rising star on both his teams so he figured he had to be doing something right. Nonetheless, watching Leo play was a pleasure in itself, though that familiar competitive spark was still present.

Can I be better?, was the eternal question.

Elano scored a goal at the very start of the match; this goal ended up setting the tone of the game. Cesc was aware Argentina's old coach had been sacked following their disappointing performance in Germany. It was clear the new one hadn't found his footing yet, powerlessly shouting at the top of his lungs from the sidelines and throwing all sorts of absurd combinations like switching out two defenders for a defender and a fucking _midfielder_ when Elano AND Kaka were on the field which, to no one's surprise, didn't do anything.

At fifteen minutes into the second half, right after Kaka had been subbed in (and the Brazilians cheered at the renewed possibility of a second goal), the new Argentina manager made another switch. This one was a striker for a striker, at least.

Cesc recognized the new player immediately. It was the kid Leo had been stuck like a burr to during the U20. Sergio... something something. Cesc was thankfully seated in the Spanish section and subsequently overheard the kid's biography: Sergio Aguero, went by the name of Kun, _just_ turned eighteen the day before. He had been signed on to Athletico Madrid this season and played his debut match for them the week before and now it was his first match on the Argentinian national team.

He was decent, Cesc could admit that much, but with Kaka on the field, Brazil continued to hold the reins of the game.

After two more substitutions, one for each team, Elano scored a second goal, making the score two-nil. The Brazilians were _deafening_ in their enthusiasm. The match continued and the Argentinians were valiantly trying and of course Cesc cheered for them -- Spanish-speakers over Portuguese anyday -- but the direction of the match was as clear as day.

Kaka scored the third goal of the match at eighty-eight minutes and the game ended three-nil.

Cesc had wanted to catch up with Leo, but Leo never wanted company after a loss. So when he didn't go to Aguero, Cesc thought nothing of it. Leo had always been a sore loser after all. Plus, their two teams would have a friendly in two months time and after Spain kicked their asses, Cesc determined he would buy them a beer and some snacks. It was the least he could do to return the 3-1 loss at the U20.

-

A month passed and their national teams played off against one another in a friendly in Murcia. As expected, Spain won 2-1. It was a good game and if Leo hadn't been a friend from La Masia, Cesc would have left it at that.

Out of the three of them, the media portrayed him as the hotheaded joker. And yeah, he got a little worked up on the pitch, especially since FIFA deemed it acceptable to have blind buffoons reffing things, but as soon as he stepped off the pitch, the game was over. He'd do better next time and that was the end of that. Neither Geri nor Leo could wrap their heads around the concept. Both of them would sulk and stew for hours after a bad match. Nevermind that it was a friendly; nevermind that there would be more matches. If he missed an opportunity for a goal, the world might as well have ended.

Okay, _that_ was an exaggeration. But the point remained: Leo was a sore loser.

Wait, no, that wasn't the point at all. The point was Cesc _knew_ Leo, even after all those years, because Leo was fundamentally the same twelve-year-old midget who performed magic tricks with the ball. He was absolutely shit at keeping in touch, but if you managed to worm your way through his million and one defenses, there would always be a path open.

Basically, Leo wasn't the type to play hot and cold and Cesc appreciated him for that. The one time their friendship had been strained was when Geri had been beside himself with jealousy that Leo had rejected the chance to play for Spain. That spat would have likely lasted the whole of their lives, had Cesc not intervened and kicked both their asses at PES, thus uniting the two of them against him. Because both of them were stubborn as mules and silent as brick walls and they just couldn't wrap their heads around the idea of being friends with someone who thought differently. All the time.

So, in short, even though the tabloids didn't cover it, Cesc was a good peacemaker. He took it upon himself then, to smooth over this (likely ridiculous) spat, since what else were childhood friends for?

As expected, Leo was sulking over a bag of what appeared to be baby carrots in the cafeteria at Neuvo Condomina.

Cesc went over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Leo," he greeted, when the other turned to look at him.

Leo's nostrils flared and he jerked his shoulder away.

"Cesc," he acknowledged, though he said nothing more.

Cesc helped himself to a seat.

"Aren't you gonna congratulate me?" he started.

Leo's left eye twitched.

"What for?"

"For kicking your ass?"

As expected, Leo glared at him hard, as if hoping Cesc's head would explode. On a scale of one to ten on how much the flea was pissed off, Cesc figured he was around five, maybe six. Basically, Leo was cold and prickly as fuck and it was just some quirk of genius that he and Geri had long learned to put up with.

"No, wait," he conceded, when the other made to leave, "That came out wrong, I'm sorry. Sit down, I really do want to talk to you."

Leo looked back at him with narrowed eyes.

"About what?" he asked.

"About your friend. Aguero."

Leo's fists clenched and he remained in his half-seated half-standing position.

"What about him?" he finally ground out. Well, Cesc thought, at least that was some progress. Back when Leo and Geri had been fighting, both of them renounced their friendship, like, five times an hour.

"Well sit down for fuck's sake," Cesc grumbled, gesturing to the seat, "I don't want to look up at you for this whole thing." Leo sat, though he still looked like someone had pissed in his Cheerios. "Good." Cesc took a deep breath, and for a moment, a voice that sounded like Xabi said he was overanalyzing things. He ignored it and plodded forward.

"What's up with you two?" he asked, point-blank. "You act like you're practically married at the U20 and now you don't even talk?" Leo clenched his fists and leaned forward, but because he didn't say anything, Cesc continued: "And don't think I didn't notice how you were subbed out ten minutes before he was subbed in. I saw that fucking final last year. What the hell happened between then?"

They were childhood friends. It was the only reason why Leo allowed himself to get so angry with him. With other people, he was always closed off. Even if they spat on him or shoved him to the ground, he would always curl into himself, poker face ever present. But with himself and Geri, Leo could go through the whole spectrum of emotions -- though, in Leo's case, it seemed to be predominantly anger and frustration, which was why it was so _jarring_ seeing him so openly _happy_ with that Aguero kid. He fucking ate off of the other's plate! It was also why Cesc had bothered intervening at all, because it wasn't just anyone that could drag Leo out of his shell in under a month.

Anyways, Leo's anger kept building and building and then he stood up. Cesc watched as he went to the vending machine and just kicked it a couple times. Thankfully they were the only ones in the cafeteria. Then Leo came back and sat down, eyes still blazing. He drew a deep breath and Cesc could see that moment where the fight physically left him.

"I don't know what to do Cesc," Leo started.

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted him to come to Barcelona so bad. More than anything. But he said he didn't want to leave Argentina. But then he signed on with Athletico and now he's in _Madrid_ and even when I sent him a cellphone because he doesn't have email he didn't call me!"

Cesc was naturally taken aback. First, this was more than Leo had ever said in a single breath to him. Second -- 

"Wait a minute," Cesc held up his hand, "You sent him a _cellphone_?"

Leo flushed. "Well he doesn't use e-mail so I thought..."

But you hate using your cellphone, Cesc wanted to say, outraged at the unfairness of it all. But no, this was about Leo and helping him out of his weird little funk so he could go back to playing the beautiful game as effortlessly as he always did.

"Let me get this straight," Cesc tried, " _You_ tried your best to keep in touch with _him_ and HE gave YOU the cold shoulder?"

Leo nodded, clearly miserable.

"He doesn't like me anymore," he said, as if that explained everything.

"What are you, twelve?" Cesc demanded, fighting the urge to shake his shoulders. "Okay nevermind, don't answer that." He took a deep breath. "Where is he right now?"

"In the locker room with the rest of them."

"Okay," Cesc stood up, "You wait here. Don't move. I'll come back as soon as I settle this, you hear?"

"There's nothing _to_ settle," Leo protested as his eyes narrowed yet again.

"Shut up, stay put," Cesc barked back, hurrying out the door and over to the other locker room.

"Aguero!" he shouted, ignoring the surprised looks he got, being a man on a mission and all.

"Yo Kun!" Tevez called, "Fabregas is asking for you!"

Aguero ducked his head out of the shower stall.

"Who?" he asked.

"Me," Cesc said.

"Oh." There was instant recognition at least. "Uh, one second. Lemme get dressed."

"I'll wait outside," Cesc offered, heading out.

While he waited, he tried thinking of what to say; the thing was, Aguero was not like Geri, he couldn't just ply him with booze and girls. What he really wanted to do was shake _him_ by the shoulders too and ask what sort of sorcery was necessary to get Leo so fucking attached -- and in less than a year to boot! Cesc was still stewing over the unfairness of it all (even though he conceded it was good Leo was getting out of his shell at all and okay so he felt like a proud but tearful parent at elementary school graduation -- so what!) when Aguero exited the locker room, dressed in the traveling gear of the national team.

"Hey," he greeted, "Long time no see."

Cesc boxed him on the ear.

"Ow!" Aguero --oh right, Kun -- rubbed at his side, wincing, "What the hell was that for?!"

"For being an idiot."

"Your defense is filled with giants!" the other protested.

"This isn't about the match!" Cesc shot back.

"Oh." Kun looked even more perplexed. "What is this about then?"

"The shut-off asshole I took on as my little brother seven years ago is having a conniption fit because he thinks you don't like him," Cesc answered, figuring honesty was the best policy.

"What?" Kun's brows furrowed as he pieced together Cesc' argument. "Do you mean Leo?"

"Yes I mean Leo!"

"Oh," and Kun got an expression like a kicked puppy which only made Cesc want to hit him again; how the hell had the two of them gone from _that_ to, well, _this_? "What about Leo?" Kun asked, heaving a sigh as if Leo were the one ignoring HIS calls.

"Did you not hear anything I said? Leo's beside himself because he thinks you hate him!"

"Me? Hate him?"

"Okay, stop, hold up," Cesc rubbed his temples. "Did he tell you he wanted you at Barcelona?"

"Um, ages ago, yeah?"

"IT WAS LAST YEAR."

"Okay," Kun nodded, "Last year. So?"

"So you ended up going to Athletico... why?"

Kun made a displeased noise. "I didn't really have a choice."

Cesc softened a bit at that, remembering his own reassignment to Arsenal. Despite the pomp and circumstance his arrival must've heralded, the amount of autonomy given to an eighteen-year-old kid with regards to transfers would have been minimal at best. Furthermore Kun had been with Athletico for less than a year so of course the difference would still be rough.

"Okay, nevermind that," Cesc conceded, "But what about the cellphone? Didn't he mail you one? Why didn't you use it?"

"I told him I didn't need it," Kun admitted, scratching the back of his neck, and before sighing.

He looked as forlorn as Leo, which only made Cesc' head hurt. If this was all the result of a huge misunderstanding, he swore he'd strangle them both and toss the corpses into the Segura.

"I don't get it," he grumbled, "Leo is a pain in the ass to keep in touch with. He doesn't normally go through such an effort. So he must really like you."

"I'm the same," Kun sighed. His palm was still pressed against the back of his neck.

"You're the same how? In that you're bad at keeping in touch or that you like him?"

"Both."

"Argh!" Cesc ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Okay, you know what, this has never been a problem before!" He grabbed Kun by his arm and dragged him along.

"Where are we going?" the other understandably asked.

"To have a talk with Leo."

There was another displeased noise but at least Kun didn't try to fight him. So Cesc dragged him into the cafeteria where Leo was, as expected, taking out his irritation on the vending machine. He turned when they entered, though his expression didn't lighten up. Rather, he crossed his arms and glared at the two of them.

Cesc turned to Kun to gauge his reaction. He didn't look angry like Leo at least, though it was obvious he didn't want to be there. He looked the other way when Leo kicked the vending machine again. The battered device gave a beep of defeat, dropping a bag of chips in compensation.

This was the funniest thing for Kun, who started shaking with laughter before doubling over, clutching at his stomach. Cesc wanted to chuckle too because it was pretty funny but he couldn't, not when Leo was glaring like that. Kun was down on all fours on the floor at that point, gasping for breath while still laughing, and the two of them watched on as he crawled over to the vending machine and retrieved the fallen snack.

"Look," he said, waving the bag of chips in the air, "It's the same one...!"

He was right. It wasn't a bag of chips at all but rather, the same pre-fried potato fries they had bonded over in the Netherlands. At the sight of it, Cesc started laughing too, though not nearly as hard as Kun. This meant Leo turned to focus on him, staring at him in equal parts outrage and betrayal. Cesc didn't care; it was all too ridiculous -- all of it. He almost didn't want them to make up, just to see how long they could keep their retarded little spat going.

Eventually, Kun collected himself. He crawled over back to Cesc and ripped open the bag of fries, tilting it in offering. Leo was still silent, though his fingers twitched when Cesc dipped down, grabbing a handful of fries and popping them in his mouth. It was like a parody of the movies, where he and Kun were loudly munching while staring at Leo, as if waiting for him to perform a trick.

At last, Leo spoke.

"Why didn't you call?" he demanded, speaking to Kun, of course. And then, when Kun didn't say anything (though he stopped eating at least!), he continued with: "Or write, or visit?" -- as if he hadn't been to London without paying Cesc a visit.

"Sorry," Kun said, setting the fries aside.

"You didn't even tell me you were transferring!"

That little tidbit made Cesc raise his eyebrows. He turned to Kun and found him suitably remorseful. Kun bit his lower lip, evidently uncertain what to say, but he eventually found his voice.

"I was jealous," he said.

In that moment, Cesc misunderstood and in misunderstanding, thought he understood Kun better than Leo. Because the two of them were both attackers, of course it made sense for Kun to feel envy. Cesc would be lying if he said he were free of the emotion himself, especially when it was Leo out of all of them at La Masia that was recruited first for the national team and ultimately for the club. What he would have given, he had thought many a night, to be blessed with such natural talent.

Leo had none of his understanding, mind you.

"Jealous," Leo repeated, brows furrowed in disbelief. " _You_ were jealous of _me_?"

"I still am, you asshole," Kun grumbled, rolling his eyes. "And no, I don't mean over football," he added, effectively shattering Cesc' worldview because what else could one be jealous of, when Lionel Messi was concerned??, "You're a much better person and a much better friend and I wish I could have been more like you when it mattered, you know?"

Leo's nostrils flared as his eyes darkened with comprehension.

"You mean with Emiliano," he accused. The name was lost on Cesc but it evidently meant something to Kun because he nodded.

"Who is Emiliano?" Cesc demanded, because god damn if he was going to sit through the scene as a complete outsider!

"A friend," Kun answered.

"His old teammate," Leo said at the same time.

"From your old club?" Cesc asked. Kun nodded. It still didn't make sense though, so he followed it up with: "So -- you didn't talk to Leo for a year -- "

"Fourteen months," Leo corrected. Kun winced at that.

"Fourteen months," Cesc amended, "Because you were jealous Leo was a better friend than Emiliano?"

"No," Kun sighed, worrying still at his lower lip, "I was jealous because Leo's a better friend to _me_ than I was with Emiliano."

"I am really confused," Cesc groaned, rubbing at his temples with one hand while reaching for the bag of fries with his other. "So you're no longer friends with Emiliano? Because you don't play on the same team?"

"Émi is dead," Kun answered. He looked away, blinking rapidly.

"Oh," Cesc said, feeling as if someone had punched him in the gut. "Sorry."

"Thanks," Kun answered, sighing again. He turned back to Leo right after. "I'm sorry Leo, you didn't do anything wrong, and I definitely should have written to you that I was transferring. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be jealous of," Leo insisted, voice thick with emotion. "You were a better friend to Emiliano."

Kun laughed and shook his head. "There you go again, being the older brother." He pushed himself up and went over to Leo, hesitantly holding his arms out. Leo all but leapt into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Kun's chest and burying his face in Kun's shoulder. Watching on, Cesc really couldn't believe this to be the same kid who kept everyone at arm's length -- who managed to make the Germans look touchy-feely with his lackluster victory celebrations.

They finished the hug (Cesc noted it was Leo who was reluctant to end it) and Kun went over to him, hugging him as well.

"Thank you," he added, kissing Cesc on the cheek.

"Yes," Leo nodded, as his eyes sparkled with a mirth Cesc had never seen before. He hugged Cesc too, adding, "Thank you for meddling."

He didn't kiss Cesc on the cheek though and Cesc pretended to pout at the discrepancy.

"What?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips, "No kiss for your dear childhood friend?"

So Leo rolled his eyes and kissed him and Kun laughed and the three of them strolled out of the cafeteria, splitting the rest of the fries.


	10. Strange how we know each other

Chapter 10  
 **Strange how we know each other**

The relief he felt when Kun said he still wanted to be friends swept everything else away. He couldn't even stay angry at Cesc for beating them, not when he had dragged both of them into the cafeteria in the first place. In the fourteen months since they had last spoken (not counting all the times he tried calling and texting the phone he had mailed Kun), it wasn't as if Leo had thought about him all the time. He still had football and when he was playing it, his mind remained blissfully clear. But when he wasn't... well.

The five weeks which had turned into ten that the physician ordered him off the pitch courtesy of a torn hamstring against Chelsea had been the worst. At five weeks, he had been completely certain he was well enough to play in the final. But no, the doctors thought otherwise and of course Rijkaard listened to them. When he was off the pitch, his mind kept drifting to the U20. He kept replaying their interactions, over and over and over, wondering where he messed up, because he surely must have done _something_ wrong for Kun to cut him off so completely.

The most obvious answer -- and the one that kept him up at night -- was that Kun had noticed Leo's tented pants during the flight back, correctly connected the dots, and was either weirded out, disgusted, or even left feeling awkward and cut off contact as a result. And Leo couldn't blame him if it were the case. If the situation were reversed and it was someone other than Kun getting a hard-on or straight-up jerking off to him, he would have been less than thrilled at the prospect. Depending on who it was, he would have been disgusted, even. And they had _just_ reaffirmed their brotherhood, as if the platonic state of their relationship wasn't already set in stone, so it was doubly damning on his part.

The fear ate away at him and as the months dragged on, he grew more and more certain it was as he feared it to be. How else could one explain Kun transferring from Independiente to Athletico without any notice? For if Leo had known the other was now willing to leave Spain, he would have done everything in his power to recruit him for Barcelona. But if Kun had known that and didn't want it -- as he had always said -- _then_ his actions made sense. It was pathetic, how many nights Leo stayed up waiting for a call that would never come. Something, anything, to let him know Kun was in Madrid, had either settled in or needed some help. Sure, Madrid and Barcelona were different, but the difference between the two of them and Spain and Argentina wasn't even worth comparing.

He could have helped. But Kun never even _asked_.

By the time the international friendlies rolled around, he was both disappointed and relieved when Kun wasn't called up for the first round or the second. Indeed, the first time he _saw_ Kun again was at the London match against Brazil. After such a long time apart, Kun looked even better than Leo had remembered: he still wore an earring on his right ear but was no longer sporting a mullet. He had grown taller too, though there was still a bit of baby fat on his face. His heart ached at the sight, in short.

Kun felt none of that, it was obvious. He averted his eyes as soon as he saw Leo and though they hugged, it was a hasty slinging of arms over shoulders rather than a proper embrace. Leo was made to boil in envy as he saw Kun kissing their teammates in greeting. It was bad enough when he and Frutos were practically on top of one another (Leo had been vindictively gleeful when the other had been transferred to Belgium come January), but now he had to watch Kun with Torres and Rodriguez in Madrid too. Leo balled up his fists and glared, just as he did when watching Athletico matches (something he did more often than he would admit to). Kun noticed that at least; turning his head to look at Leo before dropping his gaze again.

After that, Kun talked twice as loud and laughed even harder but Leo recognized the expression that had flitted across his face. It was shame, pure and simple, and in London, when he was filled to the brim with his own self-doubts, he had been certain Kun was ashamed over how Leo had construed their wholesome brotherly relationship. He felt sick to his stomach in the knowledge and though a part of him was thrilled at the chance to play on the same side as Kun, a darker voice told him it was all hopeless and he should have never wanted it in the first place.

So he was relieved. Even though he was angry at losing the match and irritated that Emiliano still cast such a large shadow over Kun, he was nonetheless relieved beyond measure. Kun didn't hate him; wasn't disgusted with him. He probably didn't even notice Leo's condition on the plane! And he was sorry -- really, truly, sorry -- and he wanted to be friends still and thought Leo was a _good_ friend and then they were hugging and Leo was certain everything would be alright.

Except it wasn't. Mainly because Kun -- like usual -- had his own ideas about what was best or even necessary.

The good news? It only took them the ride from Murcia to Madrid (instead of, say, an additional fourteen months) to realize their differing viewpoints. The bad news? Leo, in the face of his relief and renewed affection, still didn't take rejection well -- especially rejection of Barcelona, which he considered the best in the world, second in his heart only to Newell's (whose managing staff still hated him). He didn't throw a fit, but it was definitely enough to irritate him.

It had started innocuously enough. Figuring the direct approach wouldn't work, he had tried regaling Kun with how great his new apartment was. He had bought it after making the first squad and it was walking distance from the Sagrada Familia and had an oceanfront view. The rooms to the left and right were both occupied, but Leo was certain the tenants could be financially persuaded to leave. Except Kun didn't _get_ this train of thought and instead answered with how great the studio Athletico had gotten him in Madrid was -- how it was walking distance from the stadium and had 24/7 security with room service and laundry.

Leo, who already hated Athletico for stealing Kun, hated it even more for making Kun _like_ it there.

And so he upped the ante, singing praises of Barcelona -- from its seaside location to its iconic skyline, from the superior Catalan cuisine to the overall friendliness of the people -- which had spectacularly backfired because (1) he had already ranted to Kun during the U20 how _foreign_ he felt in the city and (2) now Kun thought _he_ thought himself more Spanish (or Catalan) than Argentinian, which was entirely NOT the point.

"You've already left Argentina," Leo huffed, cutting at last to the chase, "Why not come to Barcelona while you're at it?" The _and live and play with me_ went without saying.

"It's not that easy Leo," Kun answered, shaking his head. Kun was still grinning though, and Leo was pretty certain he was wearing the same grin. They were both giddy to be on talking terms again, it seemed.

"It is if you want it to be," Leo retorted. Already, he was thinking of favors to call and strings to pull. It was true he wasn't the playmaker at Barcelona (not yet, at least), but he had clawed his way up to the starting eleven and Rijkaard had said in no uncertain terms that he expected Leo to be the team's backbone in the near future, so he figured he would have _some_ sway in their acquisitions.

"What if I don't?" Kun asked. His eyes were sparkling in the afternoon sun as their train sped towards the central station at Madrid and once again, Leo wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

"Why wouldn't you?" Leo asked, concentrating on the task at-hand. At that point, he would have gladly married off Kun and baptized each of his nine-or-ten children if it meant they would be living in the same city or better yet, building.

Kun shrugged. "I like Madrid."

"You'll love Barcelona," Leo promised.

"You think?"

"I know." He took Kun's hand and squeezed it. It was the most contact he would let himself have, though he badly wanted to twine their fingers -- at least.

"Maybe," Kun admitted. As if reading Leo's mind, he twined their fingers together and gave a little squeeze of his own and Leo's hopes soared. For a second. "But we'll never know."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't leave Leo," Kun shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not?" They were still holding hands at that point, though Leo could feel his own palms growing clammy with dread.

"I owe it to Athletico." Kun snorted. "They paid for me, after all." He shook his head again, pulling away his hand, before adding: "It's not just about the money. I know it's nothing compared to your buyout clause. But the thing is -- " he sighed and turned to the window, "They gave it when Independiente was really hurting. And even if everyone tells me the money will be squandered, at least they now have a chance, you know?"

It was incredibly frustrating for Leo, not because he didn't value his own clubs (or indeed, his own childhood friends) but because his clubs and childhood friends didn't seem to interfere whereas Kun's did. He hadn't been a fan of Independiente even back in Argentina and now he hated it more. Them and Athletico.

If it were him and Géri or Cesc... if it were him and Newell's...

He understood. He really did. But it didn't make things better.

"When does your contract end?" he asked instead. "2010?"

"2011."

Leo breathed in sharply. Five years was a long time in their world, even though Kun would only be twenty-three and still in the prime of his career.

"Will you come to Barcelona then?" he pressed, unable to relent.

Kun shrugged again. "I'm not really comfortable with bigger clubs," he admitted. "The fans kind of scare me."

"You can't ignore them?" It was what he always did.

"I can and I do, but it doesn't feel right. I mean, some of them will wait out in the rain, or even overnight, just to get you to sign something."

"You haven't had someone run out onto the field yet, I see."

"Nope." Kun shuddered, "And God willing, I never will."

"The culés aren't that bad," Leo insisted. "They know you're here to play."

"Didn't you _just_ tell me how they hated you for playing for Argentina?"

"If by just you mean last year then yes."

Kun made a face and then cracked up laughing. "You are the worst salesman ever, Leo. If I listened to your pitch for Barcelona, I would've never left for the U20!"

"It wasn't that bad," Leo sniffed.

"You made it sound like the rest of the world was constantly covered with clouds!"

Leo was saved the necessity of having to respond as the train pulled into the station. They got off along with the rest of the team and the usual good-byes were exchanged. Most of them were flying off to play for their clubs with the notable exception of Maxi, who was playing for Athletico as well. Leo liked Maxi; they were rosarinos after all, but he couldn't help feeling that twinge of envy; _he_ wanted to play on the same team as Kun on a daily basis. _He_ was the one that should have showed Kun around Spain.

Then the two of them were hugging their own goodbyes and he didn't stop himself from burying his head in Kun's shoulder and breathing in his scent. It was still the same as the U20. Kun laughed when Leo told him this, tangling his fingers into Leo's hair in reply.

"Athletico is playing Barcelona in December," Kun grinned, as if they both didn't know.

"If I score a hat-trick, will you reconsider?" Leo immediately asked.

"Give me a year to make the starting squad at least," Kun protested, "I can't do anything on the bench."

"Fine," Leo huffed, kissing Kun's cheek. Kun did the same and then stepped back holding onto Leo's shoulders and grinning. Leo grinned back. He was happy despite it all. 2011 wasn't _so_ far away, if he thought about it, and hey, if they could withstand fourteen months, what was another....... okay, he didn't want to think that far ahead.

"Thanks again," Kun said.

Leo laughed, uncertain what exactly the other was thanking him for but getting the general gist. "Anytime, boludo," he replied; a mirror of their U20 dialogues. Kun laughed too and pushed him towards his train. Leo boarded and waved at Kun from the window. Then the conductor announced they would be departing and the doors closed. Kun stood on the platform, with Maxi a ways away, and Leo looked on until the central station itself turned into a speck on the horizon.

Despite what his mother believed, he wasn't a nice person. Though he was glad to have renewed their friendship, he wasn't nearly patient enough to wait five years for the chance of Kun transferring over. As he made his way to the interior of the carriage, thoughts of how their upcoming match might play out flashed through his head. A hattrick was a given, but perhaps he could top that? Or maybe just actively keep the ball away from Kun? Or maybe they would concede a goal or two from the get-go only to crush Athletico in the remaining time? He smiled at the thought; wanting only to show what everyone already knew: namely, that Athletico was a second-rate club and Kun's talents were wasted on it.


	11. A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

Chapter 11  
 **A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs**

Although Leo and Cesc thought he had it easy, in truth, it was anything but. He liked Leo and loved playing on the same side as him -- though Kun never gave voice to his hopes, he had nonetheless wanted Leo (through some absurd stroke of kismet) to come play with him on Independiente. As much as Leo had wanted him to transfer to Barcelona, he was certain. So when Leo sent him that cellphone, it took every ounce of willpower Kun had not to open it. He didn't even take it out of the box. Because everything Leo did -- everything Leo had _done_ \-- just underscored how poorly he had treated Emiliano. He had relegated his first friend on the team to an afterthought and the realization hurt all the more knowing that there was nothing he could do to make it right.

Then Athletico had come with an offer the cash-strapped Independiente couldn't refuse and just like that, IMG agreed to ship him off to Spain. It had been an honor and he was happy to be able to help Independiente, but in his heart, he had wanted to play in the Libertadores forever and ever. In the hustle and bustle of the move -- where his father offered to come along and Kun put on a brave face, knowing full well it would kill the man to be separated from his wife so -- he ended up forgetting the box with the cellphone. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to bring it. Once he was settled in Madrid, Aguirre made him get a cellphone, even though Kun was living blocks away from Vicente Calderón.

He found himself liking Spain -- and Madrid -- more than he thought he would. It was very different from Argentina, but like Leo said, the weather wasn't bad and the language was mostly the same. The food was good and the fans devout and the football -- oh, the football! He would never admit to it, but he learned after the first game that the two leagues couldn't be compared. Things were a lot more standardized in Spain, with belligerent referees and constant penalties, but the players themselves were also a notch above: bigger, stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot meaner. Like the fans, this game was their life and they played with an enthusiasm to rival the Spartans.

Kun was ashamed to discover that, unlike as was the case with the Netherlands, he didn't feel homesick when he was in Spain. Part of it had to do with the language of course, but part of it was also because, well, he was eighteen years old and it was high time for him to move out. He wasn't like Leo, shipped off to football boarding school at the tender age of twelve -- though he hadn't wanted to the transfer, he was old enough to live comfortably on his own. And in Madrid, so many kilometers away from home, he was allowed to focus fully on football, and oh, what a difference it made!

When Cesc forced the two of them to patch things up, Kun had been equal parts embarrassed and grateful. He was flattered too, that Leo still wanted to be friends even after so long apart, but getting over his complex -- because that was what it had grown into -- over Emiliano wasn't something that could be done overnight. He knew Leo wanted him to transfer to Barcelona and in lieu of that, at least visit one another regularly since their respective clubs weren't _so_ far away. But every time Kun thought of traveling to Barcelona, or inviting Leo to visit his dorm room in Madrid, he thought of all the times he had extended the same courtesy to Emiliano and couldn't pick up the phone.

He was a coward. A selfish, immature, and petty coward.

Even when Leo was sent to the hospital and out of commission for three months, he didn't call or visit or send a get-well card. He prayed for Leo's well-being, as he had done when the other tore his hamstring, but in his heart of hearts, he didn't think himself _worthy_ , worthy of Leo's friendship, especially as it was everything he should have offered Emi, and so he kept away.

He remembered his ecstatic celebrating with Maxi over his goal against Barcelona. It was his fourth goal of the season and the reason they had tied against the first-ranked club in the League. Leo was benched, still had two months of rehab to go, but he was allowed to spectate from the stands and Kun would never forget the look of pure hatred that simmered in his gaze. It chilled him to his core and it was like the air had been sucked from his lungs. The jubilation he had felt over scoring -- scoring with Ronaldinho, Xavi, and Iniesta on the other side -- washed away, making room for guilt.

He could have made things better at any point. In his infinite grace, Leo had already forgiven him for the first break in communications, he would have likely forgiven him for the second. But the guilt and grief and shame was like a phoenix in reverse; everytime he smothered the sentiments, they burst into flame anew. Everything reminded him of Leo and Leo reminded him of Emiliano, and Emiliano reminded him that it didn't matter how good of a football player he was (or ever would be) because he was a fundamentally selfish person at heart.

The longer he waited, the more difficult it became to breach the distance.

And then Leo was finished with rehab and allowed back on the pitch and it was 2007 and Kun was tasting the bitter side of playing for a foreign team for the first time. See, he had originally been selected to compete in the South American U20 Championships, but because of his contract with Athletico, which featured games every weekend during the tournament, neither Aguirre nor IMG would let him commute between Paraguay and Spain for a month. It was particularly frustrating because a year ago it would have been a matter of money, which Kun understood perfectly, but at the present, it was more about his own condition. Basically, no one thought he'd be able to play in two timezones and even he couldn't insist to the contrary because of how poorly he adjusted to jetlag.

Argentina qualified for the U20 regardless and this one, at least, Kun was able to get permission to attend. He would be the only one from the previous team, the others -- Leo included -- being overage by the time the tournament started.

It served him right, to be soundly beaten in the May match-up against Barcelona. It was absolute domination, no two ways about it, and even when Aguirre took him off the bench in the fiftieth minute, Barcelona's defense was such that he couldn't even take a proper shot. The blaugranas -- Leo among them -- scored three more goals, making the end score a humiliating six-nil in their favor.

The gap between them had gotten even wider. Despite having missed three months, despite his constant injuries, despite _everything_ that Kun had done that should have meant he would be closer to Leo's level, Leo had somehow pulled farther ahead, farther than Kun could see, even.

The difference between Barcelona with Leo and Barcelona without was like night and day.

Kun held no airs that his position in Athletico was the same. Indeed, there were times when he thought Aguirre was subbing him in out of pity or exasperation rather than actual need. It certainly explained why, despite being given the #10 jersey, he wasn't a fixture in the starting eleven.

He should have reciprocated when Leo reached out to him. In any other circumstance, he would have been happy to catch up with him, to share a drink and lament that it wasn't mate, to swap stories of teammates and families. But at the present, Kun was not only sore from the loss, but irritated that all his hard work seemed to be for naught. He practically lived in the stadium, starting early and finishing late. He never missed a match, never missed a practice, and all for what? Zero chances to shoot when Leo was on the field?

Frustrating didn't begin to describe it.

It was his fault again, in short, that they didn't speak after the match. After he calmed down, he tried to call Leo but realized he didn't know his number. He asked Maxi, but Maxi didn't know either.

The season ended a month later. Athletico finished seventh in the league and Torres left for Chelsea, freeing up a slot for a striker with Maxi taking on the captaincy. Kun headed back to Buenos Aires, training with the national team as soon as he could, and was placed in the same room as Angel, another rosarino. Even though he was the only one that had been on the previous squad, he knew the majority of his teammates, either through training or televised matches.

"Hey," he greeted from the top bunk, when Angel opened the door.

"Hey yourself," Angel answered, tossing his bags down. "When'd you get back?"

"Two days ago."

"Whew," Angel whistled, raising his eyebrows, "Hit the ground running, eh?"

"It's either that or being a benchwarmer," Kun grinned.

"Ouch," Angel clutched at his chest, sinking to his knees, "You still remember that match, I take it?"

"How could I forget? It was the last one."

"I've been called up for Benfica."

"In Italy?"

"No, Portugal."

"Ah. Speak any Portuguese?"

"None."

"Eh, it's fine. You'll learn. It's a nice place."

"Have you been?" Angel raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Nope," Kun freely admitted, "But I've seen pictures!" And then, when Angel rolled his eyes: "You're practically twenty, boludo," he reassured the other, "You'll survive."

"I'm not scared," Angel was quick to disclaim. "Just... a bit nervous."

"One hurdle at a time," Kun advised, "First the U20, then Portuguese."

"You think we'll be able to defend it?"

"Eh," Kun shrugged. He wanted to, of course, but it was going to be a different team entirely. Such was the nature of the age-restricted competitions. "I'll try my damndest. But in the meantime -- " he whipped out his ever-present Walkman and dangled it in front of Angel, "What's your favorite cumbia song?"

"La distancia," Angel answered without hesitation.

"Los Charros?" Kun asked, pulling the Walkman back and jumping down from the top bunk. He blew a raspberry. "That's not even the best song from that record!"

"Oh?" Angel raised his eyebrow again.

"Everyone knows Por qué, por qué is better." He said this flippantly, purposely picking a fight, and sure enough, Angel gave it. He growled and shoved at Kun.

"No it's not."

"Is too," Kun grinned, shoving him playfully back.

"No it's not! It's a shit song with no consistency and they must have been high off when they wrote it, it sucks!"

"Like the idea in La distancia is so deep meaningful?" Kun retorted, curling his upper lip in a sneer. Angel surged forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him close.

"Take. That. Back," he demanded.

"Or what?" Kun asked, "You'll make me listen to the whole Por Siempre?"

Angel shoved him down and into fisticuffs they flew. Kun was grinning like a madman the whole while; Angel was a good five centimeters taller but Kun had like three kilos on him. But he wanted to be roughed around, shouted at and bruised, because he deserved it. And also because holy shit how much of a die-hard fan did Angel have to be to think the band's latest offering deserved to go gold, much less platinum?

It was one way to break the ice, certainly. Angel was horrified the next morning to discover he'd given Kun a black eye -- as if Kun hadn't been one punch away from breaking his nose while they scuffled -- and was incredibly (almost slavishly) apologetic in the days following. Apparently the three MONTHS he had on Kun were enough for him to feel responsible and for an argument about anything (even cumbia) to get out of hand so, well, it was all his fault.

Apparently.

This was all normal. Kun had had roommates before and he was used to being buddy-buddy with them. But with Angel -- and with all the roommates that weren't Leo -- there seemed to be some... distance. He couldn't explain it much less define it, but it was definitely there. For example, he and Angel often ate with other people and sat on opposite ends of the bus. Not because they hated each other (having resolved their musical tastes in a second round of fisticuffs [the end agreement being: stay in separate bunks and listen to separate Walkmans]) but just because it was a breath of fresh air, having someone else to talk to. He had never felt that way with Leo.

The way Angel played too -- it was incredibly unfair on Kun's part and of course he never breathed a word of it -- but Kun couldn't help comparing him to Leo and coming up (understandably) short. It didn't help that both of them were left-foot dominant forwards from Rosario. But Angel wasn't Leo; wasn't anywhere near Leo, not at age nineteen. He wasn't always where Kun expected him to be and when Kun was wide open for a pass, sometimes Angel was on the other side of the pitch. It was normal; it was the same with Maxi and Fernando. Part of it must have been selective memory but Kun knew it was wrong of him to expect Angel to replace Leo. In fact, he felt even guiltier for wanting it in the first place.

-

In the face of this heightened anxiety and self-loathing, there was football. Before Leo, before Emiliano, before he had been introduced to cumbia even, there was football. And so long as he was on the pitch and there was a ball at his feet, Kun knew he would be alright.

It wasn't lonely or even difficult playing without Leo. He played most matches without Leo, after all. And he had to admit, it was nice having the spotlight on him, even if everyone kept comparing him to Leo. The opponents this year were easier; it was the only explanation for how he was able to top Leo's record from the previous tournament because he sure as hell didn't outplay him.

Kun was mildly disappointed that they didn't match up against Brazil; he would have liked to have scored a goal off of them. But he was proud to have scored the equalizing goal in the final and getting player of the tournament was no small feat.

He was hoisted on his teammates shoulders and they all cheered and clapped and chanted his name and he was nineteen years old and should have, for all intents and purposes, been on top of the world. But it wasn't enough; winning the U20 was good, but it wasn't the real thing.

He still wanted that third star, in short.

-

Leo didn't pass on any congratulations. Even if he had wanted to, he didn't have Kun's phone number, though he surely could have asked Maxi for it.

But he probably didn't want to. He had every right not to.

Though Kun was irrationally disappointed, he knew he ought to take the first step, considering Leo had already done so twice. But every time he picked up the phone, he remembered he didn't know Leo's number either and didn't have any way of obtaining it and besides, he didn't know what to say to the other.

So he didn't call. And so the silence dragged on.

-

When he returned to Madrid, he discovered the higher-ups at the club had taken Diego Forlán from Villarreal. Or rather, he discovered Diego and Maxi, seated and chatting in the locker room. Maxi turned and beamed at him and asked if Kun knew Diego, to which Kun spluttered and stammered because of course he knew _of_ Diego, the montevideano who had spent eight years at Independiente, but he didn't _know_ him.

As it turned out, the two of them had met on the pitch in the two years they played PD and even though it was half a decade ago, it still made them fast friends.

Diego said he had seen Kun's matches too, not just for Athlético but Independiente as well. He asked about Emiliano (referencing the shirt from the Racing match) and Kun explained the meaning behind the celebration and though he didn't smile -- because, as Kun soon learned, Diego wasn't prone to displays of emotion -- something in his eyes softened and he talked about his sister -- how she had been badly injured in a car crash and this accident had pushed him towards football in the first place.

The two of them could have probably filled the afternoon with their agonies, but Maxi, who was listening quietly to their recountings, stood up and said that was enough chatting. Because they were now first and foremost footballers and what good was it _talking_ to another player when you still hadn't met them on the pitch?

It was a weird game because none of them were defenders, much less goalies. Diego was interested in seeing him dribble and shoot, so he took up defending with Maxi as goalie and Kun playing the part of the goalie on the opposite team. Kun had played against Diego of course, the two times Athlético had hit Villarreal in the league, but because Fernando had always gone head-to-head with him, he wasn't aware of how _intense_ the other could be. It was thrilling and terrifying and all he could think of was: I'm going to be playing on the same team as him?

They shuffled the order as soon as Kun scored the first goal, with Maxi as the opposing striker and Diego now playing goalie. Maxi had initially insisted he didn't want a go opposing, since he played midfield and all, but Diego was particular about ages, insisting he should go last because he was older than them. Or maybe he just wanted to play against Maxi; Kun wasn't sure. It was his first time trying to maneuver the ball from Maxi and he ended up scoring an own goal. Maxi and Diego laughed at him for that and Kun was laughing with them soon enough.

And then it was Diego as striker, Maxi as defender, and himself as goalie. Kun was a little disappointed, because he had wanted to try to steal the ball from Diego instead of the other way around. He ended up mesmerized by the other's playing style, it wasn't graceful at all but it was so fast it made his head spin and -- and like an optical illusion at times, where Kun was certain Maxi was going to steal the ball but Diego snatched it back from behind his feet. Then Diego was passing him and Kun was still trying to play back what had happened and basically he left the goal unguarded.

"Jeez kid," Diego had told him, as his lips quirked upwards. Just a bit. He went over and ruffled Kun's hair. "You're really a one-position player, aren't you?"

"Like you're one to talk," Kun said without thinking. Then he covered his mouth, horrified, and Diego laughed outright.

"He's a jumpy one, isn't he?" he asked Maxi.

"Nah," Maxi reassured him, "He's just trying to find the best time to ask you for an autograph."

Kun flushed at that. "I am _not_ ," he more than kind of lied. Maxi laughed and ruffled his hair too and it was bad enough that Maxi was seven years older than him but now there was Diego who was practically a decade older and Kun was certain he'd be the kid forever and ever, even in Spain. But Diego, despite having hints of an Argentinian (avallenedan especially) accent and being able to understand their Spanish perfectly, never actually teased him like his teammates on Independiente did and between the three of them, Kun found himself truly warming up to Athletico.

-

It would be a month and a half later before he would meet Leo again. It was an international friendly against Australia in the latter's capital (or rather, Kun thought they were in Sydney but they were actually in Melbourne and Sydney wasn't even the capital anyways) and both he and Leo had been called up.

Leo had been absent for the February friendly against France in Paris because of his injury whereas Kun had been preoccupied with the impending U20 to come for the matches against Switzerland and Algeria. It was only in retrospect that he realized the latter match must have been a sore spot for Leo, an additional unintentional snub on Kun's part, seeing as how they played at Leo's beloved Camp Nou.

Evidently, someone hadn't informed Basile's aide about their not-quite spat because they were still given the same room. Kun was certain Leo would protest the arrangement but the other only took the keys. Kun followed after him, uncertain what to say, and Leo led the way to their shared dormitory room where there was the usual layout of two twin beds and a shared bathroom.

Leo set his suitcase on the bed nearest to the bathroom. Kun took it as permission to claim the other bed, the one next to the window. Except then Leo flopped down on that bed, the bed that Kun had just put his own travel bag on top of.

"Um," Kun said, uncertain what Leo intended. Leo didn't say anything but there was a dare in his eyes.

"Okay then," he shrugged and went over to the other bed. As soon as he sat down, Leo got up from the bed next to the window and sprawled over that one too.

Kun huffed and moved to the first bed. Leo followed. A particularly stupid game of tag ensued until Kun threw his hands up and exclaimed: "Alright then! I'll just sleep on the floor!"

Except Leo followed him _there_ too, seating himself cross-legged on the floor by Kun's side so that their knees were touching.

"Fine," Kun said, crossing his arms. "We can be cold and miserable and uncomfortable together, why not!" Leo didn't respond to that either, though he at least stopped staring. But then Kun remembered they had the friendly the next day and though he didn't like Basile, he was loads better than Pékerman (who thought even Leo was too young to play real football, to say nothing of Kun) and since it was his second time being managed by Basile, he figured he ought to make a good impression, lest they leave him off the 2010 roster too.

So he sighed again and got up and as expected, Leo followed him up. Kun flopped on the bed next to the window and Leo followed suit.

"Come here," Kun murmured, though they were already pressed side-to-side. Leo drew a sharp breath, hesitant, but eventually turned to face him. Kun wrapped his arms about him, pulling Leo into a long-overdue hug, and like usual, Leo returned the gesture.

Kun breathed in deeply and felt Leo do the same. Then Leo turned away -- and Kun thought he would leave because there had been so much lost time between them and it was mostly Kun's fault -- but instead he reached between them. Kun watched Leo move his hand forward, closer and closer until his fingertips skirted Kun's tattoo. It was the only one he had, scrawled on the back of his left forearm. 

"When did you get this?" Leo asked.

"As soon as I turned eighteen." It had been over a year ago and it had been two years since they had last roomed together.

Leo traced his index finger over the Elvish letters and Kun did his best to stay still. He also fought to ignore the pleasant shiver that was making its way up and down his spine.

"What does it mean?" Leo asked again, carefully pulling his hand back.

"Kun Aguero. It's in Tengwar," he added, and when Leo gave him a blank look: "The language of elves? From Lord of the Rings?"

"Oh."

"So I really wanted a tattoo but I didn't know what to get -- no don't look at me like that, I just knew I wanted one, okay? Anyways, so I asked Fernando, because he's got a ton of them, and he had his name in Tengwar so I tried it too. Just Aguero didn't do it, but with Kun at the front, it works."

"I see," Leo said, looking at the script once more. "Did it hurt?"

"A bit."

"More than the piercing?" he asked. His voice took on a teasing lilt which left Kun flustered.

"No," he replied, "And before you ask, I didn't need anyone to come with me for the tattoo. I just laid on the table and listened to cumbia and it was like a trip to the dentist."

"I see," Leo repeated. Then he sighed and scooted close, wrapping his arms around Kun once more. Kun's breath caught in surprise before he relaxed, glad to return the embrace.

"God I missed you," he admitted, and then before he got too sappy, quickly tacked on: "You creepy quiet ghost-like thing you."

"I hate you so much," Leo mumbled into Kun's shoulder. He sounded like Kun felt.

"I know," Kun sighed, "I know and I'm sorry."

Leo pulled away, sitting up on the mattress to look down at Kun. He was shaking with fury.

"No," he said, "No, you don't know. You don't know anything at all." He bit his bottom lip and before choking out: "You make me hate people I shouldn't hate. You make me hate people I _like_."

"Oh yeah?" Kun retorted, "Well you make me hate _myself_ , how's that for a change? Before I met you, I thought I was the best, an all-rounder on the pitch and off. But now, after you, I realize I'm a shitty person and a worse friend!"

"He's dead, Kun," Leo said. At the mention of Emiliano, all the fight went out of him and he sighed. His shoulders slouched and his eyes softened and he reached out to toy with a lock of Kun's hair. "Just let him rest in peace."

"It's not just Emiliano," Kun insisted. He shrugged Leo's hand off and pushed himself up, still caught up in the need to be right. Although Emiliano was the catalyst, the degradation of their friendship over distance and time was just the tip of the iceberg. "It's football, it's family, it's doing what's best for Argentina -- " he pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair, "You're just better than me at everything and it drives me crazy." But the thing was, it was only with Leo that Kun felt comfortable talking about Émi. In contrast, not once had he mentioned Emiliano in the six weeks he and Angel had roomed together.

"What about FIFA?" Leo immediately asked. There was now a playful smile on the corner of his lips.

"I'm better than you at that."

"Really?" Leo raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Yes," Kun insisted.

"Play you for it," Leo said, now grinning fully. He got up and went over to the other bed, opening his suitcase and rifling through casual clothes to reveal a Playstation. Along with the pair of controllers, the console took up half the suitcase.

Kun blanched. On one hand, they had a game tomorrow. On the other hand, it was still early and there were three hours until dinner. Furthermore, he couldn't let Leo get away with thinking he had Kun beat in every aspect, could he?

"Fine," he relented, reaching for a controller, "Let's play."

Leo smiled and it was all teeth.

"Loser has to run down the halls singing Ouviram do Ipiranga," he wagered, hooking up the cables to the television.

"Do you even know the words?" Kun asked as he turned the system on. He could vaguely recognize the first verse but hell if he could sing it. Maybe Angel would know it; he had picked up some Portuguese since.

"Why would I need to?" Leo snorted.

"Bastard." The welcome screen for FIFA flashed and they were greeted with Ronaldo. "Alright, you're on!"

-

When Leo got back from his late afternoon flash performance of the Brazilian national anthem, Kun was still laughing. Granted, Leo couldn't get through the whole thing since he didn't know it, but the first and second verse he had heard enough times on the pitch to memorize. He was red to the tips of his ears and extremely glad no one else was in the halls.

Kun caught his breath and went over to the other.

"How was it?" he asked, slinging an arm over Leo's shoulders. "Didja make it through the whole thing?"

"What do you think?" Leo grouched, throwing Kun's arm off.

"Ooh, touchy," Kun teased. "Well, looks like you can't blame it on the controller this time, eh?"

Leo didn't say anything, only balled his fists and glared. After a while, Kun shrugged and picked up his own controller again, starting a single player campaign against the CPU. He'd been playing against Gaston and Mauricio all summer and could still soundly kick both their asses 1v1 but he was certain, with a little more practice, he could beat them 2v1, as an older brought ought to.

They sat like that, side-by-side on Leo's bed, until Javier went around the rooms, announcing dinner was ready. Leo purposely sat down on the opposite end of the table and Kun shrugged, contenting himself to joke with the two Gabriels. There was a lot of repetition in that call-up what with three Javiers, two Fernandos and if you took his second name into account, technically two Leonels.

It was evident Leo's mood hadn't improved with food. Granted, there was too much seafood and not enough steak, but at least the vegetables had flavor. The two of them walked back to their room in silence with Leo leading the way.

Leo beelined for the shower as soon as they went inside and Kun flopped back down on Leo's bed, unplugging the Playstation to watch TV. After flipping through what must have been hundreds of English channels, he finally found one Spanish-speaking network. It was a Mexican network, judging by the currently-running soap opera, and Kun was getting kind of into the convoluted plotline (which consisted of two girls whose brains had been switched inadvertently forming a psychic connection and both of them falling in love with the doctor who had done the operation, also there were like half a dozen other suitors who kept confusing the girls even though they looked nothing alike) when Leo opened the door to the bathroom, stepping out from the haze from steam.

One glance at Leo told Kun yup, the other was still stewing.

Leo went to the other bed but he only sat on the edge. From the corner of his eye, Kun watched as Leo dug his fingers into the mattress, twisting until his knuckles were white. Then he sighed, turning off the television and swinging himself to sit on his -- well, Leo's -- bed as well so that they were facing one another.

"Are you still angry about the game?" he asked. When Leo glared at him, he threw his hands up: "It was just one match! Look, if it means so much to you, we can replay and you can win, okay?"

" _I_ should have won the first time," Leo insisted.

"It's not your fault Ronaldinho missed the penalty," Kun offered, "It happens."

Leo shook his head. "You don't get it Kun," he said again.

"Then tell me," Kun pressed. "Is this about me making you hate people you like? Because I didn't really get that, but now that I'm thinking about it, it doesn't make sense. I mean, who do you like that I _don't_?"

"It's not like that." Leo looked away, clearly frustrated, but he didn't immediately elaborate. Kun waited, figuring if Leo could forgive him for failing so spectacularly to keep in touch, he could allow Leo a childish outburst every now and then.

"Remember when you said I'm better than you?" Leo asked. "In more than just football?"

"Yeah." Kun paused and made the wrong connection: "Oh my god. Did I make you hate everyone who plays worse than you? Because that's, like, almost every player in the world!"

"What? No!" Leo snorted, looking back at him, "That has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, so you already hate people who are worse footballers than you?" Kun teased.

"I guess that means I hate you a lot, eh?" Leo sniped back.

"Just you wait," Kun promised, "Someday I'll be better than you and you'll love me."

"Don't even start," Leo half-sighed, half-snarled. He put up a hand before Kun could retort. "Wait, stop. You're getting off-track. I wanted to say -- well, what I wanted to say when you feel jealous about Emiliano too -- that you're wrong. You're a much better person and friend than I am and _I'm_ the one who should be jealous of you."

"You? Me?" Kun gestured between the two of them, blanching. "What the hell do I have for you to be jealous of! You're Lionel Messi!"

"I'm Lionel Messi the footballer and that's all I'll ever be," Leo answered. "But not you. You have back-up plans. You can see yourself as something else. And you're _good_ at other things too."

"Like what?" Kun countered, "Because I feel like I've played my ass off last year and you're even farther ahead even though you were out for three months and it's like, I would never even touch the ball if you hadn't lost that time!"

"You're exaggerating."

"So are you." Kun looked Leo in the eye then. "Tell me then, are you ever _really_ jealous of me? Like, actually jealous?" Even as he asked the question he felt stupid. The idea was preposterous.

Leo quickly averted his eyes. "No," he admitted.

"Hah! There! See!" Kun crowed in triumph, even though the truth stung, "Because whenever I'm watching you play, I think: 'Oh God, why wasn't I born with that kind of talent!'"

"But that's only because I'm jealous of everyone else," Leo qualified.

"...What?"

"Everyone else you play with. On Independiente and Athletico." He paused and his cheeks were bright red. "But mostly Athletico because they're a second-rate club and they don't deserve you."

"Well what do you know," Kun laughed, not at all offended, "I was thinking the same thing about Barcelona!"

"But because of that," Leo pressed, "I should be better than you at FIFA. Otherwise I would only have football."

"Oh yes," Kun rolled his eyes, " _Only_ football. Nothing important. Not like it's the thing we live, drink, breath, and sleep."

"I really wanted to play with you," Leo murmured. His voice was thick with longing.

"You'll get your chance tomorrow," Kun reassured, crossing the space between them to hug him. Leo buried his face in Kun's shoulder again, practically snuffling, and Kun laughed, pulling back to ruffle his hair. "No autographs though, okay?"

They switched beds and after some wheedling, Kun convinced Leo to turn the TV on again because he was kind of curious which guy Isabella would pick. Leo watched for a bit and then tossed the remote to Kun, saying he wanted to sleep. Kun was thoughtful enough to turn the volume off and he watched until the guy Isabella wanted died in a car crash. Then it was the usual "see you next week" and he drifted off to sleep.

Leo must have turned the TV off sometime in the night because when Kun woke the next morning, it was off and the remote was back on the nightstand.

-

Basile didn't let them play together. In fact, he almost didn't let Kun play at all. Instead, it was only on the ninetieth minute of the match with five minutes overtime allotted, that he subbed Leo out and Kun in.

Switching places with Leo felt weird, especially as he had just divulged his self-doubts, but h was happy for the chance to represent his country, even if it was only a friendly.

As they were trading places, Kun went for the usual two-handed high-five while Leo opened his arms for a hug. They compromised, hugging first and then high-fiving, before Kun jogged out onto the pitch.

The Australian national team's defense was intense; though they didn't have anyone who could outdribble Leo, they had nonetheless only conceded a single goal. Kun was unable to accomplish anything in the five minutes he had and the score ended one-nil in Argentina's favor, with the sole goal being a header from Martin.

In the post-match cooldown, the two of them ambled along the Australian training courts while the photographers snapped photo after photo. It was like they were back in the Netherlands what with how they strolled arm-in-arm, cracking jokes and making jibes and disparaging the starting lineups of both Independiente and Newell.

At some point, Leo pulled him into the shrubbery. Kun wasn't expecting it and gave a yelp of surprise, tumbling towards Leo and landing them both in the branches and leaves.

He caught himself right before their heads would have bonked together.

"What was that for?!" he hissed.

Leo seemed out of it. It took a while for him to respond. Then he blinked and licked his lips and gave Kun a little shove back.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, as if that was an excuse for tumbling into the landscape.

"We could have done that on the track," Kun sighed, pushing himself to his feet and offering Leo a hand. Leo grabbed on and he pulled the other up.

"Without the reporters."

"Oh?" Kun waggled his eyebrows, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Hardly," Leo pulled out his phone and gave it to Kun.

"Uh," Kun said, though he took it, "What is _this_ for?"

"For calling and texting, obviously," Leo kept his hand outstretched. "Give me yours, you idiot."

"Oh. Uh," Kun checked his pockets. As expected, they were empty. "I left my phone back in the dorms. Oh! But I remembered my number, here," he hastily typed it in before handing it back to Leo.

"How could you forget your phone?" Leo asked, looking shrewdishly at him.

"What are you, my mom? It happens, okay. I'm... I'm not really good at keeping in touch." He scratched his cheek, looking away.

"I know that. But try your best anyways, okay?"

"Or what?" Kun countered, more curious than belligerent, "You'll send me to my room without supper?"

"Or I'll get your mom to call you instead."

Kun paled at that. "You wouldn't. You don't even know her number!"

"No, but I know your sister's."

"You what!" he exclaimed, "What the -- how did you --" but Leo was already walking away. Kun got distracted by the reporters and then they were having a good-bye dinner with the rest of the team before they headed off on their separate ways.

Though they were on the same flight from Melbourne to Madrid via Dubai, Leo was incredibly good at avoiding questions he didn't want to answer (like when the hell did he make contact with Yesica and why wasn't Kun informed of this!) but he did reassure Kun it wouldn't be anything romantic, lest he eat his shoe in frustration. They parted ways at Madrid, having finally traded phone numbers, and both of them promised to win the next club match-up which would take place in a month's time.


	12. There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease

Chapter 12  
 **There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease**

When they were apart, Leo could fool himself most of the time. He told himself what he felt for Kun was the same strain of adolescent confusion as what he had felt for Antonella. He trained himself to not think of the other in _that_ way and, through grit and self-control, by and large succeeded.

He could pretend up until the point when they crossed paths again. And then it was like their first meeting all over again where everything was moving slowly and in black and white save for Kun and Leo was pulling Basile aside and stressing to him how much he wanted to room with the other. He couldn't help himself, even if he didn't know what he wanted (except to play football with him forever and ever). It was incredibly embarrassing in retrospect, how he had followed Kun from one bed to another and then to the _floor_ and he couldn't even explain why he did it. It was just, while he was watching Kun and Angel (whom he liked, liked a _lot_ , since they were both from Rosario and all) celebrating and heard through the grapevine (read: Pablo) that they had roomed together in Canada and he just wanted to be _near_. It was difficult to explain, but the distance which both of them had cultivated -- which he had convinced himself he wanted and which he knew was necessary for maintaining a wholesome brotherly relationship -- he suddenly wanted none of it.

It sent his heart into overdrive -- that Kun understood even when he didn't. When Kun moved from the floor to the bed and Leo followed, dimly aware of how childish and irrational he was being, Kun didn't move away, instead opening his arms and calling Leo to him.

Leo went. And as he slid into Kun's embrace, burying his face in the other's now-familiar scent, all the jagged edges and corners he had put up as protection melted away and he knew: _I want this._ And perhaps more damning: _I will always want this._

After that hug, he felt whole again. It didn't hurt when Kun pulled away and the desire to be near him was reduced from gravitational pull to a mild tugging of the heartstrings. Manageable, in short. They talked, they played, they shared their ridiculous insecurities, and not once did Leo want to kiss him -- a huge victory, considering Kun had grown his bangs out this time around and had lost most of his baby fat.

When he pulled Kun into the bushes, he had meant to swap cellphone numbers in relative privacy. He'd already had to switch phones twice because his number had been leaked. But then Kun had practically fallen on top of him and they were inches away from kissing and like clockwork, he felt a throb of desire -- the same skip of heartbeat he'd been trying to repress. Kun didn't notice, as usual, though it took Leo a moment to remember what he wanted in the first place -- which wasn't a kiss -- except of course Kun didn't take his cellphone wherever he went (Leo was guilty of the same) so Leo was left with Kun's number.

In the hectic atmosphere of their departure, he never got the chance to give his phone number to Kun.

And now he was back in Barcelona, staring at his cellphone, while Kun's number stared back at him. He still had the Del Castillo-Aguero household phone number, though he hadn't called it since February. Mrs. Aguero had been nice enough to wish him a speedy recovery even when her son hadn't and so he had called her back to let him know he was back in the game. Evidently, she had not passed this exchange on to Kun -- most likely because everyone thought they were blowing up each other's phones in the downtime instead of simmering in misplaced jealousy (Kun) and entirely understandable self-loathing (himself) -- which explained Kun's outrage when Leo admitted to having spoken with Kun's terrifying older sister.

But. Returning to the cellphone and cellphone number.

Leo glanced at the time. It was 22:23 on a Thursday. He had been busy the whole of yesterday, catching up with the rest of the team and forcibly adjusting timezones (which meant collapsing in bed as soon as practice ended and waking up with an empty stomach) and he figured Kun had been dragged through a similar routine. He told himself it had been more than twenty-four hours (and yes, he already missed him) and even if Kun wanted to call him, he couldn't. Which meant Leo had to make the first move.

His thumb hovered over the green call button.

But what if Kun was already asleep? Or what if he didn't take calls from unknown numbers? Or what if he hadn't wanted to keep in touch? Or what if he had given Leo a fake number?

Leo swallowed hard, forcing his insecurities down. Kun still liked him. They were still good friends.

He settled on texting and spent another half hour trying to word it just right. It was 22:55 when he finally hit send and not exactly the most coherent message.

_hey kun this is LEO hope you settled in fine how is your jetlag mine sucks good luck against murcia on sunday i won't actually call your sister if you don't text back goodnight._

He was breathing hard at that point and he could feel himself blushing. As he reread (or really rerererereread) his message, he just wanted to curl up and die. What the hell was he writing? What was the point of sending that? He should have stuck with any one of those topics and continued from there. And why the hell did he spell his name in all caps? Did he think Kun wouldn't read the fifth word in the message?

Another hour was wasted staring at his phone. But Kun didn't reply and Leo heaved a sigh of disappointment, shoving it underneath his pillow and turning off the lights.

Owing to the jetlag, he managed to sleep fitfully at least.

When he woke the next morning, he went through his entire morning routine of stretching, jogging, a quick shower and a light breakfast, before he remembered his phone. And then it was like Christmas had come early for how there were fourteen (FOURTEEN!!!) messages from Kun.

It turned out Kun's cellphone was one of those models with truncated text messages which meant he couldn't reply to Leo in a single long SMS and not, as Leo had (irrationally) hoped, an invitation to Madrid or something of the like.

He scrolled to the first message (sent at 3:21 in the morning... so, six hours ago) and eagerly read down the line.

_jetlag is bad. :(  
i can't sleep. :(  
almost slept through  
coach's debrief. :(  
maxi said i was  
snoring. :(  
i'm scared i won't be  
awake for sunday's  
match. :(  
how do you do it  
please tell me  
your secrets  
i want to sleep  
so bad zzz_

As he read, an increasingly large grin worked its way across his face. Kun was so cute, he could imagine the other tossing and turning in bed, counting sheep or listening to cumbia, and then finally drifting off to sleep. The way the phone had broken up his response was practically poetry and Leo read it out loud, chuckling to himself. It was good Kun wasn't a frequent SMS-user either; they could be awkward and lame together.

 _don't worry so much_ he started. _if you miss a match you miss a match I missed three months of matches :) maybe the time off will help_

He sent that off and decided he could offer some advice too: _do everything you can to stay awake during the day and stop eating 18 hours before you want to wake up tomorrow spend as much time outside as you can_.

Then he waited another hour for Kun to respond, which he didn't, and he headed off to Camp Nou. There was a skip in his step and Ronaldinho asked him in the locker room point-blank if he had finally gotten laid. Which he hadn't, but that wasn't important, because Kun answered back with  
 _18 hours!!!!!!  
aaahhhhhh  
slavemaster!!  
ok ok  
i'll try  
hungry already :(_  
and Leo burst out into giggles in the locker room, thus thoroughly creeping out his teammates. But he was happy -- so, so, so happy.

-

They texted incessantly in the three weeks between matches. Kun was just so funny; Leo couldn't help smiling every time he received a reply. It was a lot less intense than talking on the phone and less stressful than talking in person too. In his texts, Kun was childish bordering on whiny, probably because (as he soon divulged) he only ever texted his mom, but Leo thought it was endearing (even though it made his heart skip a beat -- at this point, everything which involved Kun made his heart skip a beat).

And then it was October 7th and their two teams were playing at Camp Nou. Barcelona won, as expected, and after the exhilaration of another victory passed over him, he was suddenly filled with dread. If it had been them, if it had been him --

Kun pre-empted him then and Leo was awash with relief (again) to receive a text at 21:13.

 _#19 at 19' nice._ he said.

"What is it?" Gabriel (who had been stolen from Zaragoza three months prior) asked, no doubt noticing his grin.

"Don't bother," Deco interjected, "Leo's just head-over-heels for his _girlfriend_."

"Shut up," Leo rolled his eyes, "It's not like that."

"This girl better be the whole package," a drunken Ronaldinho declared, "Because our little flea deserves only the best!"

There was a chorus of hear-hear's and another round of drinks came and Leo quickly typed his own reply.

_good game you did much better than before_

To which Kun responded with:  
 _yeah  
i thought so too. :)  
next time we'll  
aim for 0-0 :)_

Leo snorted with laughter, though this was really his favorite part about Kun. How he shrugged off both triumph and defeat and, like Cesc, seemed to draw a clear dark line between matches and the rest of the world. He had always had difficulty distinguishing the two and was guilty of sulking for days and hours after especially bad losses.

 _good for you to have reasonable goals_ , he answered.

 _sorry i'm worse  
than you now_, Kun wrote back.  
 _but some day i'll  
be better and  
you'll love me ;)_

Leo couldn't help himself. Not when he was this tipsy and everyone was sharing stories of how weirdly happy he had gotten in the past couple weeks. He wrote back, before he could even think of it:  
 _i already do_.

He would have screamed at him and thrown the phone away and desperately called Kun from Xavi's phone to explain his drunken not-quite confession, had Kun not responded:  
 _me too :*_

He pulled Gabriel aside partly because Gabriel was also from Argentina (Leo was incredibly grateful there was finally someone else from Argentina in Barcelona, even if it wasn't Kun) but mainly because he was the most sober of the lot.

"I need your help," Leo started.

Gabriel sobered up immediately and leapt just as quickly into the wrong conclusion. "Oh God," he groaned, squeezing his temples, "You knocked her up and now you need an emergency abortion? Okay, it's fine, don't panic, we can refer you to a doctor who --"

"No, no, no," Leo put his hands up, flushing bright red at the wild jumps in logic. "It's not like that! I just wanted to ask -- what does this mean?" He raised his cellphone and pointed to the ":*" sign Kun had written at the end of his message. He had been puzzling over it for about an hour at that point and kept expecting Kun to write more, to add something to clarify things, but he hadn't. And now Leo was going crazy, wondering if the asterisk was, like, some kind of disclaimer which he had seen on the offers for free trial runs at the gym.

Gabriel squinted at it.

"Um," he said, "I don't know."

"What do you think it could mean?"

"I don't really do technology," the other admitted. "Okay, wait, you know who does?"

"Who?" Leo asked, as a part of him couldn't believe Gabriel knew the team (or knew anyone on the team) better than him after three months.

"Iniesta." He went back to the table and dragged their extremely inebriated teammate over.

"Leo!" Iniesta greeted, throwing his arms about Leo and pressing a kiss to his neck. "Congratulations, I am so happy for you! You're going to be a man! I'm going to be your best man!"

"No, no," Leo was much relieved when Gabriel pulled Iniesta off of him and directed his attention to his cellphone.

"What does this mean?" Gabriel asked, pointing to the same set of characters Leo had while Leo waited impatiently.

Iniesta squinted at it as well and then laughed.

"It's a kissing face you idiots!" he snorted, "Where have you been for the past decade!?"

Leo felt blood rush to his face and he was ever more thankful for the dark lighting of the restaurant. Then Xavi came over and dragged the three of them back to the table and conversation turned inevitably to the romantic interludes of the players over the years while Leo curled up in a corner and hastily typed " _:*_ " back and hoped it wasn't too late. Iniesta was completely convinced he was getting married in the morning and made him drink three shots of vodka as a result and he fell asleep on the floor soon afterwards.

-

Leo woke the next morning wedged between his teammates. Ronaldinho's knee was digging into his side while both of his own legs were folded over Gabriel. Iniesta and Xavi were snoring side-by-side against the table leg and there was a three-quarters full bottle of absinthe by Xavi's foot.

Leo smiled at the sight, filled with love for the world at large. He took out his phone and reread the conversation from the night before. Kun hadn't said anything since, but what he had said before was enough.

There were a dozen things he wanted to say, but he held back, wanting Kun to reaffirm his emoticon kiss or better yet, take the reins.

He waited a whole day, but Kun didn't send anything.

As there was less than a week before the first round of the South American World Cup Qualification matches, Leo held his breath. It turned out to be the longest five days of his life. His conscience was happy to provide alternative interpretations to their exchange: either someone else had taken Kun's phone or Kun was drunk or he hadn't meant to use a kiss emoticon and was now weirded out that Leo responded in-kind or he thought that emoticon meant something else or it had really been a typo. But even if ":*" didn't mean kiss, he _had_ said "me too" and that had to mean something, right?

With this logic, Leo kept his fledgling hope alive.

Kun texted him the day before their flight to Buenos Aires via Frankfurt.

_have to hurry back  
yesi is getting  
married :( :( :(  
see you at  
the match_

Leo quickly typed back a congratulations but Kun was less than pleased. It turned out he hadn't met the guy and it was a shotgun affair. Leo asked if Kun's parents had the groom and Kun admitted they had. He divulged that Enrique was a nice enough boy, a middle-school math teacher who also hailed from Avalleneda and Leo figured it was a case of no one being good enough for Kun's older sister.

He was sorry they wouldn't be flying back together and sorrier still that Kun hadn't followed up on their conversation. Also, deep in his heart, he was a little disappointed Kun hadn't asked _him_ along for the wedding, even though he knew it was ridiculous.

Gabriel (his teammate), Gabriel (the Real Madrid one), and Maxi (Kun's teammate) were on the same flight back so Leo wasn't alone. They chatted freely and talked about the upcoming qualifiers as well as friendlytrash talking over their Spanish clubs. Leo tuned in for a while and then drifted off to sleep.

He woke as the plane was touching down in Buenos Aires, having passed in full autopilot through the layover. As he watched the familiar sprawl of Buenos Aires appear beneath the clouds of early spring, he hoped Kun would like his new brother-in-law and he added a quick prayer for a healthy child. He himself already had three nephews and one niece, but this would be Kun's first time as an uncle.

The four of them were met at the airport by one of Basile's aids and ferried quickly from the airport to the training camp, set up right at El Monumental. Although the match would be the next day, the streets were already filled with fans of both countries. Basile had given them the same room again (without Leo having to request it) but because Kun would be driving directly from the wedding to the match, he ended up sleeping alone.

Kun arrived in the nick of time, with but an hour to warm up. Basile was understandably skeptical about his ability to play, though Kun swore on his mother's life he hadn't drunk a drop of alcohol during the wedding. He was subbed in at the 74th minute and Leo subbed out ten minutes after that. The match ended two-nil in Argentina's favor and the stadium was drowned in Albiceleste. Both goals were scored by Roman, the darling child of the nation at the moment, but the two of them were happy to bask in the team's shared glory, confident they were one step closer to a spot for the upcoming World Cup.

If they qualified, it would be Kun's first World Cup. Leo thought back to their adolescent dreams and smiled when he remembered Kun's.

 _I want a third star_.

There wasn't much time to talk as Kun was hurrying back to his family's house to help prepare things for the new baby (who would be born in seven month's time, but with the fuss his mother was making, it seemed like the kid would drop out of the sky any minute) but he did pull Leo aside right as he was leaving for a private chat.

Leo's heart skipped a beat and he -- foolishly -- thought Kun was going to do or say _something_.

"I just wanted to get something off my chest," Kun started, licking his lips and looking away.

"Yes?" Leo answered, hoping he didn't sound too enthusiastic.

"See, the thing is," Kun scratched the back of his neck, "I like you a lot -- " and Leo's spirits soared, only to come crashing down in the next sentence: " -- so I was kind of hoping you'd marry Yesica and we'd be real brothers. But it was a stupid dream, I see that now, and like you said, Enrique is a good match for her." He heaved a sigh and then looked at Leo, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry for getting ahead of myself there."

Leo was left speechless for a moment.

Kun swallowed uncomfortably at the long stretch of silence.

"Are you angry?" he asked.

Leo shook his head. "No," he said, forcing himself to speak. Forcing himself to smile. It would be the last time he'd see Kun for a month; there was another qualifier match in four days' time but Kun hadn't been called and so was taking the opportunity to spend some more time with his family -- because of this, Leo needed to send him off on a high note. "I'm not angry," he underscored, and this much was true. "And thank you," he added, stepping forward to hug Kun, "Thank you for thinking about me."

Kun smiled back and the corners of his eyes crinkled and Leo wanted to kiss him as much as ever.

"Alright then," he said, "See you in November!" He was gone with a wave and Leo was left in the parking lot, watching the taxi speed off.

-

He wished he were more realistic. Like Kun. He wished he could quash his fanciful notions of forever and ever. He half wished Kun would settle down with some girl just so he would have as much impetus as he had had with Antonella to stop thinking of him so. He didn't dare pray for this though, terrified the feelings wouldn't stop even if Kun were married with kids.

-

Two days before the Day of the Dead, where he would light a candle in his grandmother's honor and order her favorite pastries from the nearby bakery and read aloud from the final chapter of Martín Fierro, Leo received a call at half past ten.

As it was Kun, who had yet to call him, he answered it on the second ring, already fearing the worst.

"Kun?" he greeted.

"Leo," the other answered. "Leo, something terrible has happened and I'm scared it's my fault."

Leo felt his stomach sink as his mind raced through the possibilities.

"What happened?" he immediately answered, lest his imagination get the better of him, "Tell me."

"It's Yesica," Kun said, and then took an audible gulp of air before breaking into tears on the other end.

Leo let out a guilty breath.

"What about Yesica? Did something happen to her husband?"

"No, no," Kun said as soon as he could. He took another deep breath. "It's her baby. She lost it."

"What? How? Is she alright?"

"I don't know," Kun hiccuped, "They're at the doctor's and no one told me anything."

"Kun, where are you right now?"

"Madrid."

"Then how could it possibly be your fault?"

"I didn't like him, Leo," Kun whispered, and Leo had to strain his ears to hear the rest of his confession, "I really didn't like him."

"You're going to have to come around sooner or later," Leo reasoned, "But what does that have to do with your sister?"

"I think -- I think I might've made her stressed. Because I _really_ didn't like him."

If Leo hadn't met Yesica (and everyone in Kun's family, for that note), he might have agreed with his friend. But Yesica took after her mother, hard as nails even when the situation was grim. She was the one who had had to hold down the household while Kun was oceans away.

"Kun," he sighed, "You're tired and it's affecting your mind."

"Asshole," Kun snarled.

"Maybe. But you know I'm right. Your sister would never blame you for this, and it's not your fault." He decided to chance a question: "Do you -- do you want me to come over?"

He heard Kun take another sharp and he waited.

"I want you to," Kun admitted, "But you've got practice. And I do too. And guests aren't allowed."

"What kind of place has Independiente cooped their star player up in?" Leo demanded. The no guests policy in particular seemed outright draconian. Even La Masia had allowed weekend visits!

"Oh it's grand, I like it actually," Kun gave a watery laugh and Leo was relieved to hear the sound. "I'll show you someday, promise. It's late -- I'll let you sleep."

"It's not even eleven," Leo protested.

"Yeah, but like you said, I should sleep."

Leo cursed his own well-meaning suggestion, childishly wanting to stay up all night talking on the phone.

"Okay," he said instead, "Sleep well. Sweet dreams."

"Thanks," Kun answered. "You too." He hung up and Leo listened to the dial tone. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He was flattered, that Kun chose to call _him_ in this moment of crisis. Not Maxi or Fernando or Ángel, but him. But he couldn't read too deeply into it.

Two and a half more weeks, he told himself. And then they'd meet again in Argentina. Two more weeks. He'd make it.

-

As promised, they met again in November. They flew out at the same time, from the same airport (Madrid) and sat side-by-side the whole time. Kun was in much better spirits; apparently Yesica and Enrique had gotten over their loss and were trying again, figuring they might have better luck now that they were officially married.

While on the plane, the two of them talked and joked and Leo laughed until his sides hurt so much that Maxi accused Kun of attempting murder via comedy. Kun pleaded innocent of course, but it was a poor defense considering he was in stitches too. Leo couldn't for the life of him explain what was so funny, just something about cowboys and lassos and overcooked steak.

They played FIFA and PES and chatted about their club matches and Kun was adamant as usual about staying at Athletico for the duration of his contract. Leo had been practicing FIFA like a madman in the meantime and managed to beat Kun seven times out of nine. It was a huge improvement and Kun cursed and swore, good-naturedly as usual, and vowed revenge in PES. Then they were tucking in for the night and Kun was asking him about unclehood and Leo realized he couldn't remember any of his nephews' (or niece's) birthdays and didn't know their favorite foods or colors or, well, anything, and Kun was certain he'd be a better uncle.

At the match the next day, they beat Bolivia three-nil with Kun scoring the first goal at 41 minutes, followed up with another two from Roman. It was Kun's first goal playing on the national team proper and he was understandably ecstatic, throwing off his shirt while doing a victory lap about the Bolivian goalie. Basile kept him in until the 75th minute as a result and though he got a stern talking-to after the match about appropriate levels of enthusiasm, it was obvious he had cemented his place in the team.

And again, Leo thought: it does not matter what we are or what we are not, so long as we can play for Argentina. He loved football and he loved playing football, but out of all the other players, he loved watching Kun play. On the pitch with a ball at his feet, Kun was even more of a child than Leo and Leo loved seeing him aglow with boyish enthusiasm.

After the match against Bolivia, Kun was kept on the bench in the match against Colombia. Argentina still one, two-to-one and Leo was pleased to have scored the first goal there too. They parted ways right after and Leo was a bit frantic. The next match between Athletico and Barcelona was in March -- practically four months away! -- and the next round of qualifying matches even farther out.

Not knowing what else to do -- because neither of them had invited one another over yet (Leo was terrified of being a bad host and Kun's dorms had a strict no visitors policy) -- he asked Kun to come with him to the Ballon d'Or Awards. He'd been nominated, though he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning, and he wasn't looking forward to the flashing cameras and cloying crowd but Rijkaard and his father had stressed the importance of showing his face so off he went.

In a return to their initial foray into texting, Leo revised his message a dozen times. In the end, he sent off: _hey if you're not busy would you like to come with me to the ballon d'or awards it would mean a lot to me_ which sounded sappy and needy which meant he was being honest. Maybe too honest. Regardless, he hit 'send' and forced himself to stuff the phone under the pillow, dragging himself over to the television to play some online FIFA.

After he won three matches and rage quit against some jerk fielding Kaka on Real Madrid, he returned to find Kun had written back.

_when is it?_

Because, right, Leo hadn't specified anything.

 _1 December in Paris_.

Kun didn't answer and Leo figured he was out eating with Maxi and Diego; from Maxi's photos it seemed like they were the Three Musketeers at Athletico. He had darkly wished one or the other would transfer out, like Nicolas in Independiente or Fernando -- though, to be fair, he still hadn't given up hope that Kun would one day come to his senses and come to Barcelona.

He wished there was something he could do or say to make Kun transfer. But he was happy with Athletico and could shrug off a three-nil (or even six-nil) loss like it was nothing so it wasn't as if Leo could convince him with football. Annoyed at the state of things and certain Kun would be busy or uninterested in tagging along, he tossed his phone to the couch and went to sleep.

Leo woke in the morning to a slew of texts from Kun:

_it's in paris?  
PARIS  
why didn't you say so  
yes  
yes of course :)  
i've never been  
but i've always  
wanted to go  
when are you  
there for and  
can we be  
tourists for  
a bit? :)_

The romantic in Leo thought: Paris was the city of love and Kun didn't mind that his first time there would be with Leo. They would obviously go to the Eiffel Tower and whatever other tourist spots Kun wanted and then have a nice candlelit dinner and they would stroll along the Seine and if it was cold (as December in Paris tended to be), maybe they would hold hands too. And maybe Kun would start singing one of Mattioli's songs and Leo would sing along and if the passerby thought they were a couple, then so be it.

It was a fantasy, a delusion, but the reality was: Kun said yes. He wanted to come with.

Leo grinned from ear-to-ear and texted back: _great thanks so much it means a lot to me that you'll be there of course we can go see the touristic spots i'll tell my agent to book your tickets too_.

And Kun, who was awake too, answered right away:

_yay  
hooray  
so excited :) :) :)  
thank you!_

It wasn't a date, Leo stressed to himself. It was one good friend accompanying another to an awards ceremony at the most romantic city in the world. But it wasn't a date.

He smiled despite himself.

Because it was totally a date.

-

Although he didn't win the Ballon d'Or and wasn't that big a fan of Paris, it was still his favorite vacation in recent memory -- purely because of Kun.

Kun was beaming when they met at the station and he kept smiling throughout the trip. Like he said, it was his first time visiting Paris and he was incredibly excited. His enthusiasm and joy were contagious and Leo was grinning like an idiot soon enough.

In the two and a half years since their excursion with Juan and Julio in Amsterdam, Leo had taken leaps and bounds with English. Which wasn't to say he could field an interview in the language, but he was comfortable enough asking for directions and obeying basic instructions -- like where and how much to pay. Kun, on the other hand, still mixed up yes and no and subsequently clung to Leo like a drowning man clung to driftwood.

It was not at all unpleasant. Especially when Kun would look at him with unabashed wonder as Leo said -- in admittedly broken English -- that they would like a table for two with the best possible view of the nightline and no, money was no problem.

"Okay," Kun declared, as they were dining at the top of the Eiffel Tower. They had just placed their orders (read: Leo had told the waiter -- in English! -- that they would go with the chef's recommendation), "Change of plans: I'm going to be the cattle herder and you're going to be the English teacher."

"Will you still stampede me and my students?" Leo asked.

"Only if you talk as fast as you did today." Kun shook his head, taking a sip of juice before gazing out at the skyline. It was really magnificent though Leo was more interested in how the lights glimmered in Kun's eyes.

"It's really beautiful," Kun murmured. Leo made a sound of agreement.

Kun leaned forward, touching his hand, and he smiled again and Leo was momentarily blinded.

 _You're_ so beautiful, he wanted to say.

"Thanks for inviting me," Kun said, squeezing lightly. "You didn't have to and I'm really grateful. It means a lot to me too."

"Thanks for coming," he answered, choking up on the last word.

If it was a date -- which it wasn't -- that would have been the moment where they clinked glasses or kissed or one of them got down on one knee. But it wasn't a date and they just stared at one another from across the table. Then the waiter was returning with soup and appetizers and Kun pulled his hand away and they ate like starving men.

Afterwards, they strolled along the Seine, just as Leo imagined, and Kun hummed some cumbia song Leo either hadn't heard or couldn't recognize. Though it had yet to snow, it was already plenty cold and the icy night air softened the glow of the streetlights. His heart stilled and then sped up when Kun twined their fingers together, swinging their hands in-beat with their pace.

"Have you been to Zurich?" Leo asked when they were settled in their respective beds in the hotel room.

"Where's that?"

"Switzerland."

"Nope, don't think so," Kun shrugged. "I've been to Basile though."

"Basel."

"That's the one."

"Wanna come to Zurich?" Leo offered, "There's another awards ceremony in two weeks' time there."

"Another one?" Kun raised his eyebrow. "Is it as pretty as Paris?"

He paused, thoroughly tempted to lie. But he couldn't do it, not in Paris proper. "No," he answered at last.

"Do you _want_ me to come?"

"Yes."

Kun smiled. "Okay," he said, shrugging easily, "Then I'll come."

And it was as easy as that.

-

Zurich and Paris were incomparable, but it wasn't to say the former was without its charms. They didn't get to see any of these charming points however, as Angel had gotten wind of Kun attending the Ballon d'Or and begged his former teammate for an autograph from Cristiano Ronaldo. Apparently his time at Benfica had led him to develop a bit of a hero complex on the Portuguese footballer superstar.

"Man," Kun exclaimed, as the two of them made it out by the scruffs of their necks, "All that trouble for this little squiggle!" He lifted the signed jersey which Angel had shipped overnight express towards the light.

"You're making me jealous," Leo facetiously whined.

"Wanna write your autograph in the corner here?" Kun offered, tugging at the edge of the jersey.

"I'd rather write it on this corner here," Leo retorted, reaching over and tweaking Kun's ear.

"Weirdo," Kun teased, jabbing at Leo's side. Leo sidestepped and laughed as well.

"Seriously though," Kun continued, when they were in the taxi en-route to another five-star hotel, "I don't get it. Why go through all this trouble for someone who'll never even know your name?"

"Didn't you have idols?" Leo asked, surprised.

"Of course! Who do you think I am?"

"And you didn't want their autographs?"

"No!" Kun waved his hand in dismissal, "No way!" The taxi stopped in front of the hotel and they disembarked. As they were in the elevator, Leo continued the conversation. It was always easy talking with Kun and he wished he had more opportunities to do so.

"Well why not?"

"To be honest, it was painful enough meeting Aímar and Riquelme and seeing them up close. I always thought they'd be like gods."

"Like Maradona?"

"Yeah," Kun laughed, more self-deprecating. He opened the door and Leo followed him in. "It's a dumb thing to believe, isn't it? I know they're people -- I know we're all only human -- but if I don't know them, I always think there's a chance they'll be perfect."

Leo couldn't resist. He grinned and lightly shoved Kun's shoulder.

"What about me?" he asked.

"What about you?"

"Am I not perfect? Do I not exceed your expectations?"

"You?" Kun looked him up and down and then started sniggering. He laughed so hard, he fell onto the bed and rolled to his side shaking with mirth all the while. Leo bore through it, standing in his second place for FIFA Player of the Year glory. When Kun finally got his giggles under control, he pushed himself off the bed and steadied himself by holding onto Leo's arm, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Yes, Leo," he choked out, "You're so perfect. Please sign my palm and I'll have it tattoo'd there forever."

Leo huffed, tabling the image of Kun sporting a tattoo with his name, "So what I'm getting from this is that you don't think it's a good idea for me to participate in this whole Make A Wish Foundation schtick?"

"What is that?" Kun managed to get out. And so Leo explained the purpose of the organization. Following the explanation, Kun steadied himself and asked: "So let me get this straight: some dying kid's wish is to play a match with you and you think you should say yes?"

"...Yes?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kun shook his shoulders, "Leo, you played seriously against my brothers. Hell, you played seriously against your _nephews_!"

"That's different," Leo insisted.

"Is it?" Kun asked, "I bet if it was Maria Sol or even your mom, you'd still go all-out against them."

"I would not."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Okay," Kun put his hands up, "Let's see you throw a game."

"What?" Leo blinked, "Here? Now?"

"Sure thing," Kun pulled up the in-room telephone and asked what Leo figured was reception for a ball. Leo listened in as the receptionist -- who only spoke English and German -- managed to understand what Kun wanted. In a matter of minutes, a FIFA-approved football was sent to their room and the two of them were standing on the makeshift pitch which consisted of the space between the front door and the window. Kun had suggested they step out of their suits; it made for better mobility but didn't help their overall image.

"This is insane," Leo said.

"Maybe," Kun shrugged. He moved the ball between his feet. "Okay now," he started, "Just pretend I'm a poor ten year old boy dying of cancer. And all I want -- the only thing in the world I want -- is to beat the great Lionel Messi at football. Just once."

"Okay," Leo nodded, "Got it."

"Okay," Kun grinned, "Here goes."

Kun did his best impression of a bedridden child dribbling a football and even though Leo knew the other wasn't trying, even though he knew the whole point of the exercise was for him to NOT control the ball, he still couldn't help it. As soon as Kun toddled near him, he stole the ball. It was like taking candy from a baby.

"Leo!" Kun protested.

Leo blinked.

"Sorry, sorry, my bad. Try again, I swear I'll hold back."

Kun took the ball to the front door and tried again. Leo stole it as soon as it came in range. They repeated this three more times before Leo threw his hands up in defeat.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I can't do it."

"I know," Kun laughed, "If you had younger brothers, maybe you'd have learned." He rolled up his sleeves then and grinned, "But now I'm tired of holding back. Let's play for real, eh?"

"Here?" Leo asked, gesturing to their sorry excuse for a pitch.

"Why not? We've got a ball."

So off they went. It was a good thing they were doing this in a private hotel room because the press would've had a field day. Leo could already picture the headlines: Lionel Messi caught playing strip football in private afterparty following POTY award.

Seven times, he stole the ball from Kun and dribbled it into Kun's goal.

On the eighth time, Kun successfully passed him, feinting with his left foot before striking out with his right, and Leo was made to concede a goal.

It was embarrassing, but even in this sort of match, he didn't like to lose. He didn't like to concede a single point. He knew he was a greedy player; it was a little more of a sore spot that it was so obvious to Kun, who was looking at him with open affection.

Leo flushed, breaking off his gaze.

"I can't stand it," he admitted, "But every once in a while, you're a better player than me."

"Every once in a while?" Kun snorted, "More like one percent of the time!"

"It must be more than that," Leo argued, "Considering I just spent five months on the bench."

Kun's expression immediately turned serious then. "You should really look into that. I mean, I know you've been building muscle, but maybe there's something else you can do?" In truth, his frequent injuries concerned him -- as well as Rijkaard, his father, and his teammates -- but Leo was sore enough that Kun had recognized his competitive streak so easily and din't want to dwell on his health to boot. So he changed the topic, urging Kun to get dressed so they could play some FIFA. He beat Kun soundly there as well and satisfied himself with that.

After a couple rounds of FIFA, Kun stole the remote and flipped through Swiss TV channels, settling on a Spanish murder mystery while Leo drowsed off. When he woke up, the bedside clock read 3:13 and Kun was snoring gracelessly in front of the muted television. There was a puddle of drool next to his cheek and he had kicked his blanket to the floor. Leo _still_ wanted to kiss him -- that was how bad he had it. He settled for covering the blanket over him and brushing his lips against Kun's forehead. Then he turned off the TV and went back to sleep.

They flew from Zurich to Buenos Aires together and then parted ways to spend Christmas with their respective families. They traded Christmas and New Year's wishes through SMS but didn't communicate otherwise. Leo was busy getting to know his nephews; he'd memorized their names and birthdays by the end of it though favorite colors and foods still escaped him. But he thought of Kun, already so excited over a child that wasn't yet born, and redoubled his efforts. His mother hugged him tight afterwards, promising he'd be a good father and Leo swallowed hard and nodded, unable to find the right words.


	13. And with each passing day the stories we say draw us tighter into our addiction

Chapter 13  
 **And with each passing day the stories we say draw us tighter into our addiction**

When they first started texting, Kun was having a crisis of his own. He had already come to terms with the fact that the two of them were, for whatever reason, better friends than himself and Emiliano. Part of it was because Leo was an all-round better friend than him and part of it was because he was more worldly going into the relationship. The friendship. So when Leo first texted him, Kun made a promise he would do his damndest to respond, within a week if not a day.

But because it was Leo, everything was easy. He found himself looking forward to his friend's messages, even if they were long and rambling and practically stream-of-consciousness because it was a good excuse for him to be silly and playful as well. It was not only easy but _fun_ and even though his teammates on Athletico also thought he had gotten himself a girlfriend (because he couldn't help grinning when Leo recounted Barcelona's recent match) Kun knew the truth of the matter and that was the most important thing.

Now that Yesica was finally getting married (at the ripe old age of 21 -- a travesty for a girl so pretty and kind if you listened to his grandmothers and aunts who were clearly blind), his mother had turned her attentions to him, flooding him with messages all along the lines of "when I was your age I was already a mother twice over" -- as if it were some kind of race.

The thing was, Kun wanted to settle down. He wanted to get married and start his family football team. But he didn't want it _now_. He was only nineteen years old for crying out loud, and he just didn't feel ready, to take care of either wife or children. He tried telling his mother this but she would have none of it, insisting she would help out -- because in his mother's mind he was going to marry a nice Argentinian girl and buy her a house across the street from his parents and go by his lonesome to Madrid -- and that he wasn't getting any older and it was only a matter of years before he wouldn't be able to have children.

This was another reaosn he liked texting with Leo. See, although he had plenty of contacts on his phone, most of them were from Athletico and he saw them on a regular basis. He was always on-time for training so Aguirre never had reason to text him and he and Diego and Maxi hung out all the time after practice. As for his Argentinian teammates, he had only traded numbers with Angel, who seemed pretty happy with Benfica so Kun was happy for him. No news on the Portuguese though.

Anyways, returning to his own texting habits, at the end of the day, he only regularly texted with Leo and his mom. His mom was hard-as-nails, even across the Atlantic, and she insisted he use proper spelling, capitalization, and punctuation, because she didn't raise her son to be a monkey. Furthermore, when Kun complained about things -- like, say, jetlag -- Leo offered him applicable advice whereas his mom just told him to stop flying around so much, as if it was Kun's choice to lead the jetset life!

When he told his mother this, she practically swelled to twice her size, shaking her head like a lion's mane. Leo wasn't getting any younger either, she reminded him, and though she was happy the two of them got along so well -- especially since it was Leo who had held his hand through the gutwrenching days after Emiliano's crash -- she stressed the importance of leading separate lives and not hanging on to things or people for too long. This piece of advice hit a sore spot for Kun and he nodded numbly, knowing better than to try to get the last word with his mother. Instead, he went to the bride's room, where Yesica was being fitted into her wedding gown.

On one hand, Leo's parents already had grandkids so there wasn't as much pressure on him to get married and settle down. It seemed Leo's family was more accepting of his one-track mind where football was concerned though of course this was because Leo started so much younger and was a much better player. And on the other hand, Leo had said he wanted to get married and have his one kid too, and he seemed to like being an uncle, even though Kun was appalled with how little he knew about his nephews and niece. Not once had they discussed romantic relationships since their bunking together before the U20 because there had always been other things to talk about: football, FIFA, their teammates, and the national team.

But his mother's accusations dug deep and he worried his yet-unvoiced desire to stay with Leo (which had culminated in a pipe dream for Leo to marry Yesica and end up as his brother-in-law) was holding the other back. It wasn't like either of them lacked friends or even potential dates. It was just... he preferred Leo's company and it seemed Leo felt the same.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Yesica asked, flicking him on the temple.

Kun turned to his sister and as he did so, the retort he had stored away slipped off his mind.

"That bad, huh?" she asked, hitching her skirts and striding to the full-length mirror. "You know, even though it's not pure white, it feels so bright. Like... I think I'd look better in gray." She adjusted her hair and turned back to Kun. "What do you think?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Nothing came out but Yesica didn't stop looking at him expectantly.

At last, Kun said: "Enrique doesn't deserve you."

And Yesica's eyes softened at that.

"You're such a dummy Kun," she murmured, going over to tweak his ear. "I'm the one who doesn't deserve him." And then, because talking with his sister was like talking with his mom, she pre-empted his oncoming rant by switching topics: "But this isn't about how I look. What's got you thinking so hard? I can see steam coming out of your ears!"

"It's nothing important," Kun grumbled, "Just mom telling me to get a move on."

"Oh God," Yesica rolled her eyes, "I told her not to pressure you and there she goes again!"

"It's not just that though," Kun admitted, and it was weird, how he used to go to Yesica when he was five, before they had enrolled him in the youth system at Independiente, and she'd beat up the neighborhood bullies for him. And now he was a whole head taller than her and she was going to be a mother and make him an uncle and he wondered where the years had gone.

"What is it then?"

"She said both me and Leo would be hitched if we didn't spend so much time with each other."

Yesica laughed at that. "You're definitely an idiot," she patted his shoulder, "That's just mom being mom. You know she's always preparing for the worst. When you're not around, she says Leo's the best thing that ever happened to you."

"What?" Kun startled, brow furrowing, "When? _Why_?"

"I dunno," Yesica shrugged, "You're a lot more mature now. The Sergio I knew would've grabbed a steak knife and gutted Enrique."

"I wasn't that bad!"

"No, but you were... wild? Like you never called home and we only ever saw you on TV."

"It wasn't -- " he started and then stopped. "Sorry about that," he ended up saying. The late apology sound lame, even to his own ears.

"Don't be. Everyone grows up at their own rate," she ruffled his hair and gave him a friendly shove, "You're still a kid to me. Take your time, don't rush things. You've got a good thing going and who knows," she shrugged, "Look at mom and dad. They'd be at each other's throats if they didn't have Antonia and Ferdinand to rant to. So, you know, friendship is important too."

"I'm not friends with Leo so I can rant about my future wife to him," Kun protested.

"No," Yesica agreed, "But it's never been just football either. Mom said he really got you through Emiliano's death."

"Yeah, he did." He felt the now-familiar dual sting of loss and swell of affection when the Netherlands U20 was mentioned.

"You've got a good thing going," Yesica repeated. "Take care of it. You're not the easiest person to keep in touch with and god knows we try."

"I know," he flushed, ducking his head, "Sorry about that."

"Oh come here you big baby," Yesica rolled her eyes, bringing him into a hug. "It's my wedding and you're the crying? Christ, maybe I should be leading you down the aisle!"

"Shut up," Kun grumbled, though he hugged his sister back. He remembered his father's words to him, right before he stepped on the plane to Madrid.

_Love alone will bring you home._

-

He and Leo kept texting. It was becoming a ritual: after brushing his teeth and sliding into bed, he'd pull out his cellphone and shoot off a dozen truncated messages. Then he'd set his phone on top of the charger and drift to sleep and come morning, Leo would have responded.

After Paris and Zurich, they didn't meet up for a couple months, what with club matches and publicity events and the like.

So when their respective clubs faced one another on the pitch, they hadn't seen each other in two and a half months. Kun was starting whereas Leo was benched. At the sight of the other, bundled in training gear on the bench, Kun was reminded of Emiliano's note in his album. _A waste of a valuable resource_.

Out of all the matches he had played with Athletico, that one was the most meaningful by far. Kun was certain, even if he hit his head, even if he got dementia, he would still remember everything about it. It was one of the those moments where the stars aligned and God smiled down on him: he scored two goals, Athletico won the game four-two (thus redeeming themselves somewhat from the humiliating 6-0 and 3-0 scores of the previous matches), and he managed to steal the ball from _Leo_ not once, but three times. Granted, Leo was only subbed on in the fifty-seventh minute but Barcelona was still boasting players like Eto'o and Ronaldinho -- both of whom played the duration of the match. Aguirre subbed him out a minute before the start of overtime and Kun wasn't even angry.

He had scored two goals -- two! goals! -- against Barcelona. He had dribbled past Gabriel and Valdez. For one glorious minute he had even outplayed Ronaldinho.

 _A-GUE-RO, A-GUE-RO, A-GUE-RO_ , the rojiblancos chanted as the stadium erupted in cheers when full-time was called. No one could believe it, not himself, not Maxi, not Diego -- not even Aguirre. Kun had been hoping for a tied match; the others weren't even that optimistic. And the terrifying thing was: Barcelona was giving their all. Ronaldinho _and_ Eto'o had both scored and Leo had half a dozen opportunities but somehow -- somehow -- Athletico pulled through.

Kun knew better than to go to Leo after the match. He wouldn't have been able to even if he had wanted it anyways as he was mobbed by the rest of his team and practically carried from the pitch to the bus to the restaurant. He knew Leo didn't take losing well, that he blamed himself personally for every loss, and was thoroughly prepared to give him a longer cooling-off period. A couple days, a week, even a month if need be.

He woke up the next morning with the buzz of victory still about him and nearly pranced into the shower. Camacho and Valera, who were both in the dorms as well, had accompanied him back, even though he hadn't drank much. But he was the youngest on the team and Aguirre had given them strict instructions so off the three of them went. Just thinking about the game made him smile and he hummed to himself while in the shower.

His phone was filled with congratulatory messages -- among them his mother, Angel, and Pablo. But most surprising of all was the fact he had three missed messages from Leo.

This was a curious case in itself as Leo rarely sent multiple messages. His phone company let him send whole paragraphs of text, which he often did, leaving Kun to answer line-by-line.

He pulled open the first one -- a wall of text -- and read:

_now that i think about it it's a good thing you'll be staying in athletico the two of you deserve each other and maxi and diego too how the hell do you call that football you're supposed to shoot the ball into the goal not bounce it off the opponent's foot_

And then:

_what the fuck was the referee doing xavi thinks he might have been drunk we were owed three penalties which weren't paid and if they were the score would have been 5-4 and then you would be the one writing this message to me_

And finally:

_i hate you so much for taking the only thing i have going for me_

Even though Kun knew Leo would be furious over the loss, the messages still hurt. _He_ had thought his first goal had been a stroke of genius paired with good luck; it wasn't his fault there wasn't a direct line to the goal. As for the penalties, if you asked him, Leo (and Barcelona) were favored by the referee more often than not; it wasn't like Borbalan was a rojiblanco. Like he had said in Zurich: ninety-nine percent of the time, Leo outplayed him. But there was that one percent, that eternal sliver of hope, where he came out the better player. And the match from the night before was just one of those times and he was grateful, grateful for the win, grateful for the two goals, grateful for the chance to redeem himself and his team, but he knew the same match-up wouldn't come again. Barcelona would be scrambling to tighten the bolts, to recalibrate after a loss of that scale, and when they faced off in the following season, even a tie would be an uphill climb.

He didn't know what to say and so said nothing. He figured: they would be meeting one another in June and if Leo was still bitter then, well... they'd play it by ear then.

Leo threw that plan in the works by showing up on Kun's front doorstep. Kun, who was just coming back from training, did a double-take.

"Guests aren't allowed," he blurted out.

"So hide me in your jacket," Leo replied.

It was a dumb idea and Kun was 100% certain the guard saw through his hunchbacked appearance. But the two of them made it from the lobby to the elevator and from the elevator to Kun's room without any incident. And then Kun realized it was the first time Leo had come to see him and that he hadn't gone to see Leo yet and he was scrambling for something to offer the other, his mother's hospitality having kicked in.

"So," he started, when they were seated at the barstools by the kitchen, nursing two glasses of orange juice. It was either that or red wine and he didn't think either of them should be drinking in-season.

"I wanted to apologize," Leo said, "I was angry and drunk and I didn't mean those things."

"I know," Kun answered, smiling.

"I'm an idiot and I'm too competitive for my own good, like you said, and I'm going to try to change that and -- " Leo paused, looking up at him, "What?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"I said I know."

"You know what?"

"That you didn't mean what you sent," Kun laughed, ruffling Leo's hair, "You were pissed off over the loss."

"I was pissed-off about being outplayed by _you_ ," Leo corrected. He shook his head and tilted his head into Kun's touch. "I'm sorry Kun, really I am. It's just -- you're so good at everything else, sometimes I feel all I have to offer is football and now I don't even have that."

"Definitely an idiot," Kun interjected, pulling his hand out of Leo's head so he could hold hands instead, "What do you mean you don't have anything? You're the one stealing my line. You've got football and FIFA and English and I'll bet you're halfway decent at herding cattle to boot. When I'm standing next to do, what exactly am I the best at? And don't give me that friendship bullshit."

"But you _won_ ," Leo protested. "You scored twice and you were named Man of the Match."

"For the first time, might I add," Kun stressed. "How many dozens of matches have you been named that for? Wait, don't start, we'll be up all night."

Leo huffed and then twined their fingers together, stroking Kun's knuckles with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I really am."

"I forgive you," Kun readily answered, "And if it's any consolation, at least I'm a better loser than you, eh?"

Leo leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, squeezing his hand as he did so. "You're the better everything," he murmured and Kun flushed bright red. They stared at one another for a while and then Leo's stomach grumbled.

"When'd you last eat?" Kun asked.

"Last night."

"Christ, you must be starving. Here," he let go of Leo's hand to grab the menu, "I told you they had room service right?"

Leo ordered something hearty and Kun ordered the same thing then they turned on FIFA and got through a round (Kun let Leo win, figuring he needed to triumph at something) before the food arrived. The two of them returned to the kitchen, swapping barstools and glasses and Leo choked on his juice when Kun made an indirect kiss joke. He was coughing for a while and turning bright red to boot and Kun was a terrible friend, pointing and laughing and practically falling off his stool until Leo caught his breath enough to glare. His cheeks were still rosy and Kun pinched one of them.

"Thanks for coming," he said, "I missed this."

"This?" Leo prompted. His voice cracked though he still looked as grouchy as a soaked cat.

"Us," Kun shrugged. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the match was fantastic, God willing it'll happen again -- "

"It won't."

"Right, but even if it didn't, I won, just once, and I'm happy," he grinned, sponging up the bits of pasta sauce with bread before popping the morsel into his mouth. "Basically, I like you more as a friend than an opponent."

"Come to Barcelona then," Leo sighed, though his tone told Kun he knew it a lost cause, "And we can be friends instead of opponents all the time."

"Or you could put on your big-boy pants and come to Athletico," Kun challenged.

"Don't even joke about it."

Kun grinned, though he didn't say anything more, knowing better than to push Leo on this particular evening. They finished up their meal, played some more FIFA while eating pineapple gelato from the bucket before Leo announced he had an 11PM train back to Barcelona. Kun was outraged, demanding he stay the night, but Barcelona had an early-morning practice -- since there was the Champion's League and all -- and in all fairness, Kun's bed was barely big enough for him, there was no way it'd fit the both of them.

So they snuck back downstairs, like giggling teenagers sneaking snacks upstairs during the U20, and Kun called a cab. He kissed Leo on the cheek in farewell and Leo returned the gesture. It would be another three months before the International friendlies because Leo wouldn't be playing in the friendly against Egypt, not to mention the following World Cup Qualifiers. Assuming Barcelona made it all the way to the finals of the Champion's League -- which Leo was certain they would -- it meant he'd be playing right up until international breaktime.

-

About a week before Kun would head out to the States for a pair of international friendlies, after the end of the club season, Kun was greeted with another unexpected guest.

"Hey!" an enormously tall man greeted, as soon as he entered the lobby.

"Hey?" Kun answered.

"You're Sergio Aguero, aren't you?"

"Depends who's asking."

"I'm Gerard, Gerard Pique."

"Oh!" Kun instantly stuck out his hand, "Leo's friend! I've heard so much about you!"

"Me too, me too," Gerard grinned, shaking heartily. "Is now a good time...?"

"What is this, an interview?" Kun laughed, "I got in trouble last time for bringing a guest so we'll just hang out in the cafeteria, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing."

Gerard was so tall, he had to duck his head just to get in through the back door. Through self-control, Kun refrained from checking behind his shoulder. He had no idea what Leo's childhood friend wanted with him but, considering how Leo hadn't said anything about it, figured it was a surprise visit. Maybe he wanted to pass on a birthday gift?

The cafeteria was a short walk away, in a separate building in the same complex, across from the dormitory parking lot. As Gerard hadn't eaten dinner and Kun was always up for more food, he ordered two helpings of the chef's menu. Gerard was staring at him all the while and his gaze made Kun extremely self-aware. He had just come back from helping Maxi coach the local school team and desperately needed a shower. But he wasn't going to make Gerard wait for him to get clean because that would be terrible hospitality. Plus, he was curious why the other had come in the first place.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Gerard started, "I was visiting family in the area and thought: hey, why not swing by and see the famous Kun Aguero, you know?"

"I'm hardly famous," Kun protested.

"Oh, right -- you don't mind if I call you Kun? You're welcome to call me Géri if you like. See, Cesc told me a fair amount about you and then I've been catching up with Leo over the past week, and well," he grinned, "Any friend of those two idiots will eventually be a friend of mine so I figured, why delay the inevitable, you know?"

"Fair enough," Kun grinned. As usual, Leo's tastes with regards to friends and teammates was impeccable: five minutes into their acquaintance and he was already warmed up to Gerard.

"I heard about the transfer," he added, "Congratulations. You get to go home, right?"

"Yeah," Géri smiled, and his whole being seemed to glow. "It's been a long time and ManU has been good to me but I'm ready to go back."

"Congratulations," Kun repeated, "I'm sure Leo is thrilled to be playing with you again."

"From the way he acts, you'd never know," the other rolled his eyes.

"Don't be silly; he's often told me how you and Cesc were like brothers to him."

"That was ages ago though."

"Has anything changed?"

"If anything," Géri laughed, taking a swig of lemonade, "More stuff has stayed the same! I don't know if you keep up with the news, but there's a huge push for Cesc to come back as well. I don't think it'll be this year, but maybe the one after that."

"That's sweet," Kun sighed, thinking of Émi, "The three of you can play on the same team again."

"Jealous?" Géri asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A bit," Kun admitted, "But I won't be able to play with... well, with my childhood friend. The possibility doesn't exist anymore."

"How do you mean?" Géri's expression turned somber, "Did he get hurt?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean -- he's dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Kun ate a bit more of the pasta before tacking on: "Sorry for bringing that up -- it was a... it was a couple years ago." He was apologizing more for dampening the mood than remembering Emiliano but Géri seemed to understand regardless.

He shook his head, "Don't be," he murmured, "I came here because I wanted to get to know you."

"What? Why?"

"Well," he shrugged, "I guess 'cause I've heard so much about you? And you really did a number on Leo. If I didn't watch him play I would've sworn he wasn't the same kid I knew!"

"Uh," Kun started, certain his own part in Leo's development was being grossly exaggerated here, "I didn't know him before so I don't have a point of reference but... Leo's still Leo?"

"Yeah," Géri conceded, "He is. But he's a lot... happier? More open? Actually capable of showing human emotions on his face? It's kinda weird, but I like it. Plus, he talks above a whisper so I don't need to lean down just to hear him."

Kun snickered at the portrait of La Masia he received.

"Don't laugh," Géri chided, though he was chuckling too, "Those were the days, lemme tell you! Cesc and I were practically interpreters for him, he was just so closed-off and shy!"

"Okay," Kun shrugged, "You were there; I wasn't. I believe you."

"So," Géri pressed, "Tell me."

"What?"

"Something about you."

"What?"

"I don't know," Géri shrugged, "Between Cesc and Leo I feel like I've got your whole life story but at the same time, I don't really _know_ you, you know?"

"We could play some football," Kun suggested.

"1v1?"

"Why not?"

It turned out to be a terrible idea because the private courts inside the dorm were closed which meant they had to walk a block to the public field. It was the middle of summer in Spain which meant the sun was just beginning to set at 21:00. Kun managed to nab a football off of the neighborhood kids and like that, they were off.

With regards to footballers, it was true: you never really knew another player until you had played against them. Géri was no different. Even though he was a defender through and through, it was obvious he was an excellent all-rounder and after playing against him, Kun could understand how he managed to score goals without penalties while guarding the back line. The two of them would've played till sundown, had they not been interrupted with a series of flashes.

Both of them froze. Sure enough, a cameraman was standing to the right of the field.

"Shit," Géri swore.

"What the hell was that?" Kun asked.

"We have to catch that fucker!" Géri answered, sprinting towards the photographer. Kun tossed the ball back to the kids and quickly ran after the other but it was no use; the cameraman sprinted to his car and sped off; they didn't have a license plate or even a face to go off on.

"Oh man," Géri groaned, "I'm so sorry about this."

"What the hell was that?" Kun repeated, "What did he want?"

"I don't know," Géri admitted, "But it can't be anything good." He heaved a sigh and added: "Thanks for playing with me but I think I've taken up enough of your time. Come say hi if you're ever in Barcelona, you hear?"

"Uh," Kun said, caught off-guard with the sudden departure "Sure thing?"

"Great. Thanks again. I'd hug you but I'm pretty sure we're being recorded so I'm just going to run for a taxi. Bye!" And with a wave, Géri ran down the street. Kun stood by, watching the other flag down a taxi and no doubt beeline for the airport or train station. He had been photographed on the sly before but didn't think it was a big deal. It's not like he was a hot chick so there weren't paparazzi trying to catch him naked or whatever.

-

Kun was woken up the next day with a phone call from Aguirre.

"Hello?" he blearily asked.

"What the hell did you do!"

"What?"

"Look at the front page of Marca!"

"Marca?"

"The newspaper!"

"I don't read the news." He was still half-asleep at that point and didn't recall the photographer from the previous evening. "What'd it say?"

"Go to their website."

"Coach, do I have to?" Kun whined, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. It wasn't even eight yet!

"YES."

"Fine, fine," he rolled out of bed and dragged himself over to the laptop. After Aguirre spelled out the name of the newspaper -- because fuck if he could be bothered to type at 7:31 in the morning -- Kun was shocked awake with the website's header.

 _Athlético's Aguero having secret meeting with Pique: Possible defection via Guardiola?_ , the headline read.

"What the," he stammered, scrolling down the dozen photos of himself and Gerard playing football in the park. There was a long article accompanying the pictures, basically summing up Géri's relationship with Leo and Barcelona and how he had been stolen from Manchester United by Guardiola. The author of the article conveniently ignored Géri's Catalonian roots, intent on stressing Barcelona's underhanded recruitment methods. Following the more factual part of the article, he was treated to a collage of himself and Leo; that article was titled: _Little Albiceleste? Messi determined to fill the ranks of Barcelona with Argentinian compatriots._

"This is all bullshit," he said, as soon as he found his voice.

"Is it?" Aguirre demanded.

"Of course it is! You know how grateful I am to Athlético! I've read the contract, I know what's expected of me! Do you think I'm not giving my all when I play?"

"Here's the thing Kun," Aguirre told him, "I've got the chief on the other line and he wants to know why you were meeting up with Pique in the first place. So tell me: why were you?"

"It was a spur of a the moment thing," Kun shrugged, "He just showed up in the lobby and we got dinner and talked."

"About what?"

"About football, duh."

"But he didn't ask you to transfer?"

"NO."

"And at no point did you express dissatisfaction with Athlético?"

"NO." Kun huffed, "Look, I know about the rivalry between Real and Barcelona, but it's never been like that with us. If this is such a big deal, get _me_ on the line with the chief and I'll sort it out myself!" It was the same stupid bravado that had gotten him on the same side as Leo all those years ago; basically, he didn't know when to be afraid.

Aguirre laughed at that. "I like you too much to feed you to the sharks, kid," he said, "Okay, don't worry about it. I'm happy you're happy; I'll talk to the chief for you. Have a safe flight for the internationals, you hear?"

"Yes sir. And you too," he quickly added before Aguirre hung up. Kun stayed at the laptop, staring at the splattering of photos of himself and Leo through the years. He felt himself blushing looking at them: had they really kissed in public so many times? Did so many people really think he was going to go to Barcelona because of his friendship with Leo? Evidently, because the rosiblancos were already raging about his alleged infidelity in the comments section. Kun scrolled through three dozen incendiary messages before closing the browser window. He shook his head and decided to take a shower.

When he came out of the bathroom, his phone chimed.

Leo had sent an SMS.

 _sorry about géri i didn't think he would actually go see you i know the stuff in marsa is all trash sorry to get you caught up in it don't think it's all so bad_ , he had said.

Kun smiled at that. Well, he always smiled at Leo's texts, but this one in-particular was so frantic.

 _no worries :)  
i understand  
it was nice  
to meet him  
he is so tall  
and handsome  
maybe you can  
give me his #? :)_, he replied, snickering to himself the whole while.

Leo replied to this while Kun was at training so he only saw the message when he got back.

It said:

_you think GÉRI is HANDSOME?????? are you blind???_

And then a little while later:

_nevermind géri is extremely handsome you have good taste. :)_

And after that:

_ignore that, that was the idiot himself he said he's sorry again and that you play well and hopefully we meet on the pitch someday also his number is 34 621 383 461 but i don't know why you want it in the first place he's not handsome_

And finally:

_okay maybe he's a little handsome but only because he's tall_

Kun had a hearty chuckle at Leo's expense before typing up another playful reply.

-

When they met for the international friendlies against Mexico and the US, Kun made a conscious effort to be less affectionate out in the open. He was reminded of his mother's warning for one, and of the full-page spread of his and Leo's many many victory celebrations for another. Without saying anything, Leo must have noticed, because he turned the tables as soon as he could, hugging and holding hands and kissing Kun on the cheek and Kun was happy -- borderline giddy -- from it all, but also very guilty. And he didn't know _why_.

Both of them had been to the United States before so it wasn't as exciting as, say, Paris. He was impressed with the sheer amount of information available in Spanish, though it was all Mexican Spanish. Mostly understandable but still a long way from home. Kun had his twentieth birthday in San Diego and there was a cake with icing and strawberries and the team sang happy birthday and Leo let him choose all eleven players first for FIFA that night. The day after, they beat Mexico 4-1 with Leo scoring in the first half, which was a pretty good gift, as far as matches went.

Following the friendly against Mexico, they played the US to an unsatisfying 0-0 tie. Kun was a bit frustrated that Basile subbed him out right before the end, but that was the thing with the national team: there were always politics involved.

Regardless, it was good playing with Leo again and the chance to speak Argentinian Spanish at normal speed without having to slow down or overenunciate was a boon in itself. The team stayed for six days in the US before flying back to Buenos Aires in preparation for the subsequent World Cup Qualifier matches.

One thing which was a direct result of Guardiola's ascension to manager of Barcelona (and whispers that the reborn Barcelona would be the most formidable version of the club yet seen) was the renewed hope on the Argentinian side that their own golden boy -- D10S himself, that is -- could be persuaded to coach the national team. And so it was that during their match against Equador, Maradona himself appeared in the front row seats.

Kun had seen him before; even in midlife the man was instantly recognizable. He was a lot thinner than Kun remembered, but his eyes still held a hunter's glint.

It was the first match where he and Leo played together for the whole ninety plus three minutes. He didn't know whether it was nerves or fatigue, but either way, the end result was a 1-1 tie that was even less satisfying than the one against the US. As they were lining up at the end, he saw Maradona shake his head. When they were filing out of the stadium, Kun sneaked another glance, only to find the other had left before them.

They had a match against Brazil four days later which ended in a draw. Again. Kun was frustrated at being subbed in at the last quarter while Leo was subbed out before overtime.

-

Right before breaktime, the squad which had been assembled for the Olympics was called up. Batiste, who would be managing the team, had planned to call them up one-by-one in order of seniority to determine how the jersey numbers would be given out. Román would of course be wearing jersey #10, just as Óscar would be #1. The other numbers, from 2 'till 23, were up for grabs.

Leo was supposed to be second in line, but he elected to switch spots with Kun. Kun gave him an odd look, uncertain which jersey number he wanted to pick. None of the numbers were particularly meaningful to him; he remembered his father had always worn #17 when he could because his mother's birthday was May 17th but the first person he thought of was Leo, whose birthday was on the 24th of June and it wouldn't be appropriate.

After much hemming and hawing, he settled on #11 because the K for 'Kun' was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. He explained it thus when Leo asked him why and Leo nodded, giving a pleased smile, before going on to pick #12, because L was the twelfth letter in the alphabet. So there they were: numbers eleven and twelve on the Olympic squad.

-

They were given a month and a half of proper breaktime. Six weeks of mandated rest. So the team split up, heading for their respective hometowns, and Kun was greeted with his sister in her third trimester, utterly glowing with motherhood.

Before he even knew what he was saying, he was kneeling by her side and swearing he would dedicate the first goal he scored in the upcoming Olympic games to his future niece. She laughed and told him not to get ahead of himself -- there was always the chance Batista would have him benched -- and Kun laughed too, because some things were the same.

The six weeks flew by -- he ended up wishing Leo happy twenty-first birthday via text -- and in the blink of an eye, Kun was shuffling with Leo and the rest of the team through airport security, bound for the next flight to Beijing. The plan was to arrive two weeks before the start of the games to give them time to acclimate -- to both the climate and the timezone -- and ratchet up the training intensity as necessary.


	14. Confirm our conviction that some kind of miracle passed on our heads

Chapter 14  
 **Confirm our conviction that some kind of miracle passed on our heads**

The Olympic Village where the athletes would be commuting to and from was sleek, elegant, and modern. It had been custom-built for the occasion and was one of many investments made by the Chinese government in honor of the games. There was just one problem: each athlete was given their own room. Everyone else on the team -- Kun included -- took this as a boon, marvelling over the widescreen television and accompanying surround sound, but Leo was annoyed. He had thought it would be a repeat of the U20 with the two of them rooming together each night, and was irritated when the organizers had something else in-mind.

Plan A had been to get ahold of one of the attendants. Unfortunately, they misunderstood his request to share rooms and instead upgraded him to a coach's room, putting him even farther from Kun.

Plan B had been to invite himself to Kun's room and spend the night there regardless -- goodness knew the king-size beds had space enough -- but Kun was insistent about getting a full night's sleep (nevermind that they came two weeks early to deal with jetlag) and shoved Leo out the door after a mere three rounds of FIFA, giving Leo only the lightest peck on the cheek as farewell.

Leo returned to his upgraded room stewing in frustration. He knew it was childish of him to cling to Kun so but at the same time he felt entitled to his company during international matches and tournaments because, well, they were all they had. At least until Kun came to his senses and transferred over to Barcelona. Seeing as how he hit it off so easily with Geri (who has a surprisingly explosive temper for such a nice guy) and Cesc (who Leo was certain would be returning shortly) and was already good friends with Gabriel, Leo tried to assuage his own impatience, telling himself it was only a matter of time.

It wouldn't have been the end of the world if Barcelona had invoked an extra statute of his contract and forced him away from the Olympics. Athletico had kept Kun out of the U20 South American Championships in much the same vein and Argentina had still come out... well, not on top, but second place. But it would have meant missing out on a month of Kun's company and that was, well, priceless. Yeah, he had it bad, and everyone and their mother on the team knew it and it was one of the first things Geri told Pep when they had their one-to-one chat but at least Pep was... tolerant, if not supportive. Speaking of Pep, the ex-star player and new manager was so absurdly persuasive, he could've sold ice boxes to eskimos. Leo had no idea how he managed to convince the executives to let him go to the Olympics but he was immensely grateful to the other for pulling the strings so.

He would survive, he told himself. They were twenty and twenty-one years old after all. Far too old to be clinging to each other like teenagers.

But it was a slippery slope both ways. Kun's room was between Oscar and Angel with Ezequiel and a different Lautaro further down the hall. These were all familiar faces whereas Leo was surrounded by coaches and -- who was to say Kun wouldn't warm up to one of them, as he had warmed up to Leo in the Netherlands? And even if he didn't, Leo really missed their nighttime conversations; he missed how Kun would sing in the shower, how he put the toilet seat down even though they were both guys (because, as he disclaimed, he'd had the habit beaten into him at a tender age by the terrifying Yesica), how he would flip through the TV channels looking for Spanish programming, even how he would leave the TV on through the night which meant Leo needed to turn it off and catch a glimpse of his wide-mouthed sleeping face (which was stupid but cute... or maybe the other way around).

He missed Kun, in short.

Plan C wasn't really a plan at all. It was just him taking out his frustrations on the nice room, pretending the whole suite was a vending machine in the Barcelona cafeteria. He absolutely trashed it: shattered the television, threw the glasses, filled up the sink and let the water run onto the tiles, left the shower on so the bath would overflow, and dragged the shower head to the bedroom and soaked the bed as well.

The room was a wreck when he was finished with it. Save for a smidgen of guilt for the cleaning staff, he was thoroughly satisfied with his work.

After ascertaining the room was unlivable, he went over to Batista's suite. The coach scrambled to receive him, dressed in his nightgown, and Leo explained the situation as best he could.

"Let me get this straight," Batista said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, "You want to have a _bunkbed_ moved into Aguero's room?"

"It doesn't have to be a bunkbed," Leo conceded. "Another bed would be fine."

"But you want to room with him," Batista stressed.

"Yes."

"And he's okay with this?"

"Yes."

Batista's brows furrowed and he groaned, dragging his palm down his face. "Kids these days..." he muttered, turning around to go back to his room. Through coaching privilege, he managed to get a Spanish-speaking member of staff on the line despite the late hour and passed on Leo's request.

"Okay," he said at the end of the brief conversation, "They'll bring it around in an hour. You need any help moving your stuff over? Or do you want the moon and sun too, while you're at it?"

"I just want to win," Leo answered.

Batista laughed at that.

"Alright, alright," he shook his head, "Alfi told me you were going to be a handful, but at least your head's in the right place. Make sure to use a condom, you hear?"

Leo flushed. "It's not like that."

"I don't care if it is or isn't. Go pack," Batista dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Leo did as told, maneuvering himself through the mess of his own creation. In less than half an hour -- so, twenty-five minutes after two -- he was in front of Kun's door again.

He rang the buzzer. No response. He tried again, pressing harder. Still no response. Only on the third try, with his ear pressed anxiously to the door, did he hear a cranky groan from inside.

"Who is it?" Kun asked. His voice was thick with sleep.

"It's me," Leo answered.

"Who?"

"Leo!"

There was another groan, lower and longer. Leo counted to nineteen before the door swung open and he was greeted with Kun clad in only his boxers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What time is it," Kun grumbled, letting him in without complaint. He closed and locked the door behind them while Leo set his suitcase down. "Don't tell me you still want to play FIFA."

"Change of plans," Leo shrugged, "I'll be sleeping here from now on."

That woke Kun up quick.

"What! Why?"

"Batista said so," Leo shrugged.

"But there's only one bed!"

"A bunkbed is coming."

"Here? Now?" Kun whirled on the clock by the entranceway, "It's two thirty in the morning!"

"Seems the staff are used to these requests." Leo settled himself on the sofa in wait. Kun sighed and went to sit by him.

"What was wrong with your room?" he asked.

"It was a mess."

"Like mine is any better."

"Yours is even worse."

"That's it," Kun declared, flopping down on Leo's lap, "It's too early for me to think of a witty comeback. I'm going to sleep, wake me up when the bunkbed comes." And like that, he closed his eyes and turned to his side so that he was facing Leo's knees, and relaxed fully.

Leo bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to relax as well. He did his very best not to think about the situation: Kun, in boxers, sleeping, on his lap, with his head, like inches from his --

He stared instead at the wall behind the bed. It was a nice wall. It was a nice bed. He hoped Kun didn't like the bed too much -- though he couldn't like it that much if he was willing to sleep on the sofa with Leo _but not like that_.

Thankfully, the attendants didn't keep him waiting for long. Less then ten minutes after he had barged in, there was a knock on the door. Kun was immediately up, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth, rolling his eyes while Leo chuckled fondly at the sight, and Leo ran into the bathroom to retrieve a (still-damp) bathrobe so the other could be halfway decent.

He had to hand it to the Chinese: they were incredibly efficient. The king bed was lifted out and the bunkbed wheeled in and set up, all in a matter of minutes. And then he was climbing onto the top bunk and Kun was settling himself into the bottom. Fatigue caught up with him then and he was at ease. He always was, when Kun was next to him.

"Night," Kun said, as he flicked off the lights.

"Night," Leo answered as he drifted off to sleep.

-

The following day, Leo woke at half past twelve, which meant he got a solid nine and a half hours of sleep, and was immediately disappointed that his cellphone had no new messages from Kun. And then he remembered where he was and that Kun was on the bunk right underneath his, and he swung over the rail.

Kun was spread-eagle over the lower bunk, having wedged the blankets between the mattress and the wall during the night. His mouth was wide open, though he wasn't snoring.

Leo quickly righted himself and rummaged through his overnight bag, pulling out his PSP to distract himself with PES. Thank God for handhelds, he thought, otherwise he would have been tempted to just stare. Unfortunately he didn't know the WiFi password and so was limited to playing against the CPU. Kun was distracting even while asleep; it was the only explanation for how he was having trouble beating said CPU. At the end of each game -- which seemed to last progressively longer -- he'd duck back down to double-check Kun was still sleeping. After three matches (the third of which he point-blank threw because he was so impatient), Kun finally gave a great yawn, cracking his eyes open right as Leo was checking on him.

"Morning," he smiled, turning his head to make eye contact.

"Morning," Leo answered, even though it was early afternoon. He climbed down from the top bunk as Kun clambered to the bathroom. Though the room Kun had been given wasn't as spacious as Leo's unwanted suite, it was still many steps up from the twin hotel rooms (or penitentiary-styled dorm rooms) they were used to. He lounged on the sofa, flipping through TV channels, and eventually Kun exited, freshly washed and swathed in last night's bathrobe.

"Don't bother," Kun said, "I looked through every channel and there isn't a word of Spanish available!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Totally sucks. But the place itself is sweet." Kun's stomach rumbled and they both laughed. "Do you need to wash up?"

"Yeah."

"You do that, I'll get dressed, and we'll try to play charades with the staff to get some food?" he suggested.

"Sure thing," Leo pushed himself off the sofa and moseyed to the bathroom. When he had finished, Kun was fully dressed -- in a sweatshirt and sweat pants -- and jogging in place in front of the door.

"C'mon, let's go," he prompted, pushing the door open. He rubbed his hands enthusiastically, "I wonder if they have pot stickers for breakfast."

-

It was inevitable that there would be joking from the other guys, especially as they slept past breakfast and lunch. They reconvened in the canteen at five for an early dinner -- coach's orders, even though they'd just ate.

Pocho fired the first shot.

"So," he said, with a shit-eating grin, "Did our lovebirds sleep well?"

Leo flushed at the implications and was about to sort things out but Kun only grinned back, reaching over to wrap his arm about Leo's shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.

"You bet," he answered, as the others clapped and whistled. And then, with a shit-eating grin of his own, he added: "Jealous?"

It was a good thing Kun's arm was holding his steady; Leo was sure he would have fainted from the blood that was rushing to his head.

"Naw, man," Luci interjected, "If that's your thing, that's your thing, but there's beautiful blonds for miles here."

"And orientals," Fernando added, slanting his eyes for effect.

"Didja get some?" Kun asked, taking his hand off of Leo.

"Well," Fernando grinned, tilting his head in their coach's direction, "Let's just say maybe I did or maybe I did." He and Luci did a fist bump and Kun laughed, clapping as well.

" _Nice_ ," he whistled.

As they helped themselves to the food, the rest of the team trickled in. Pablo sat right by Leo, placing a concerned hand on Leo's shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" he asked in a hushed tone while Eze, Kun, and Nicolas were arguing over how they'd carry the torch up Everest.

"Of course it is," Leo answered, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Your face is giving a bellpepper a run for its money, for one."

"Shut up," Leo rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, really."

"Batista told me what you asked him last night."

"My room was a wreck," Leo retorted, "I could hardly be expected to sleep there." Pablo didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and looked at him all too knowingly. Leo made a mental note to never let Geri and Pablo cross paths; their collective mothering would turn the whole team into a nanny state. Leo huffed and made a small concession: "Alright, fine, so I wanted it. Kun is fine with it, he always has been."

"I know _that_ ," Pablo had the nerve to roll his eyes here, "But Kun is... well, he's still really young."

"He's not that much younger than Angel," Leo protested. He must've gotten a little worked up there because the second his voice went above a whisper, the rest of the table turned to stare at him.

"Who's not that much younger than me?" Angel himself asked.

"Kun," Pablo quickly answered.

"Am I the youngest here _again_?" Kun whined.

"How old _are_ you?" Pocho asked.

"Are you legal?" -- Fernando, of course.

"I'm twenty years old," Kun scowled, "Of course I'm legal."

"Can't drink in the States!" Luci noted.

"What's there _to_ drink in the States?" Fernando retorted. They high-fived at that exchange.

"Hey Alman!" Pablo snapped his fingers in the direction of said teammate, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Yeah but he's March," Oscar shrugged, "Kun is late-June."

"Aw man," Kun bowed his head, "I can't believe I'm the youngest again!"

As they were heading to their rooms and trying to get to sleep at a normal time, Pablo grabbed Leo by the arm and dragged him off to the side.

"What?" Leo asked.

"Leo," Pablo warned, "I'm telling you, take this seriously."

"You think I'm _not_ being serious?" Leo retorted, clenching his fists.

"Kun is really," Pablo sighed, trying to find the right word, "Well, sheltered. And he always acts like you can walk on water."

"Are we talking about the same person here?"

"Look, all I'm saying is, take it slow. Take it easy. Don't you dare try to sleep with him during the tournament, you hear?"

Leo felt his ears burning, along with the rest of his face. He hated how everyone assumed just because he liked being near Kun and how he was most comfortable bunking with Kun that their relationship was like that. Or that it was heading in that direction. Because even if he wanted it, Kun didn't and that meant it never would.

"It's not like that," he yanked his arm out of Pablo's grip and then took a deep breath. "Really, Pablo, it's not." He looked Pablo in the eye. Pablo seemed to find what he was looking for because his eyes softened and he reached up to pat Leo on the shoulder.

"I'm not saying never, okay?" he murmured, "Just -- not now."

"I know," Leo replied, even though _he_ had always believed in never. "I won't do anything. Don't worry."

When he peeled off from Pablo, Kun was waiting for him by the elevators.

"What'd he want?" Kun asked.

Leo paused. His knee-jerk reaction was to reply it was nothing serious, but he knew that sort of non-answer would only make Kun more curious. So he settled on a half-truth.

"He was worried about you."

"Me?" Kun looked at him as they were going up to the third floor, "Why would he be worried about me?"

"Because you're the youngest out of all of us."

"By three months!"

"Still."

"I love Pablo, I really do," Kun sighed, letting Leo swipe the keycard to open the door, "But I get the feeling he'd tie my shoes for me if he could. He just doesn't think I can do anything."

"Outside of sending the ball into the net?"

"Even that," Kun rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Leo nodded. "Unfortunately."

"Well that's enough of that. FIFA?"

"FIFA."

They played for five hours, from seven 'till midnight, and the end score was 12-10 in Leo's favor. Courtesy of his brothers and needing to keep on top of them, Kun had closed the gap between them after his time at home. After FIFA, they washed up and went to their separate bunks. Kun's new brother-in-law had gifted him an iPod, which he was now using -- grudgingly -- to listen to music. Leo fell asleep to the sound of his singing voice, crooning about long-distance and love.

-

After four days of settling-in, Batista decided they had enough time to be done with jetlag and announced practice would be resumed on the first, a week before their first match. Although the opening ceremony was on the eighth -- a lucky day for the Chinese -- football matches started two days before and their group was set to play the Ivory Coast on the seventh.

"How old is Román?" Kun asked, two nights before their first match. They had been too tired to play FIFA and were instead resting on their respective bunks.

"Thirty," Leo answered. He knew because Román was exactly nine years older than him.

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?" Leo prompted, when Kun didn't elaborate.

"He used to be better."

"Yeah. He did."

"Thirty isn't that old, even."

"It's old for football."

"I guess," he laughed, "So that means we've got less than a decade, eh?"

"I guess." Leo didn't see anything funny about the situation. This was a truth he had always known: football was not like law or medicine or politics. It wasn't like education or academia or service. It was a brutal world that stole the best years of a player's life and often left them as mangled heaps of bruised flesh and torn muscle.

"On one hand I feel sorry for him," Kun started after a pause, "But on the other hand, I'm jealous."

"Why jealous?" And then, before Kun could answer, he tacked on: "You seem to be jealous of everyone these days."

"It's weird," Kun admitted, "Because I am happy. Most of the time. And I think I'm doing my best. Most of the time. But then I see other people and I always think the sky is a little sunnier where they are, you know?"

"No."

"Oh." He paused and Leo could imagine him shrugging, "Well that's how I feel."

"But _why_ are you jealous of Román in particular?"

"Because the people love him. Because we love him. It doesn't matter if he can't score anymore, his presence alone is enough to make me want to play better. It's the same with Maradona, weirdly enough. Like, I was really nervous, but at the same time, I think I played harder than I ever did, just because I wanted to show him I could."

"I see."

"You don't feel the same?"

"Not really." For him, it was still just about winning.

"That's pretty cool."

"Shut up."

"I mean it."

"Good night."

"Night."

-

The following night, Leo was the one asking. It had been a teasing throwaway line that Kun had texted, but when coupled with how quickly he and Geri had hit it off had become a bit of a sore spot.

"Do you really think Geri is handsome?"

"Definitely," Kun answered, with zero hesitation. "What? You think he's not?"

"I've known him since I was twelve!"

"So? I've known myself since I was born and I still think _I'm_ plenty handsome."

Leo snorted at that, choosing to pursue his previous line of questioning. "What is it about Geri, though? You didn't say this about Cesc or Dinho."

"Handsome is handsome," Kun shifted and made a 'hmm' noise. "I guess if I had to pinpoint it, it's because he's tall."

"And you like that?"

"Actually, scratch that. Now that I think about it, Geri really reminds me of Emi."

"Emiliano?" Leo felt his stomach sink at that name. It had been three years and still, it seemed that everything always went back to _him_.

"Mm-hm," Kun hummed, "Emi was freakishly tall too. And their personalities are super similar."

"Were they?"

"Geri is nice. And tall. And he laughs at dumb jokes even if he doesn't get them."

"Since when is tall a personality trait?" -- was Leo's main concern.

"Is Geri neat too?" Kun asked.

"What do you mean by 'neat'?"

"Like... really organized. Color-coding shit and putting his receipts in folders."

Leo winced; that was a disturbingly accurate description of Gerard's special brand of OCD.

"A bit," he admitted. "Okay, yes."

"Emi was just like that," Kun laughed. "It used to drive me crazy. I teased him about it. You know he had albums of his favorite players? Like, neatly-organized color-coded photo albums?"

"No."

"It was the coolest thing ever. I'm pretty sure his mom still has them."

"So," Leo started, when Kun gave a great yawn, signalling he was moments away from falling asleep, "Let me get this straight; you like Geri because he reminds you of Emi?"

"No, I like Geri because he's your friend but now that I think about it, I like him more because he's like Emi," Kun corrected. Leo was glad they were in bunkbeds instead of side-by-side because Kun's reasoning was making him blush. It was impossible being angry or even jealous, not when Kun always knew what to say -- even without meaning to. Or maybe he had it so bad, he would've been happy with whatever Kun said. Either way.

"Leo?" Kun asked, yawning again.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for showing me your friends. I like them."

What was Leo supposed to say to that? He turned to his side, trying to imagine what Kun was doing, right as the other reached over and turned off the lights.

"I'm sorry I never got to meet Emiliano," he ended up saying. "But for what it's worth, I like Diego and Fernando too."

"Hmmm," Kun hummed, "I like them too."

The way Kun said it reminded Leo of their not-quite confession. He wanted to ask Kun what he had meant with the kiss emoticon but knew Pablo was right. It wasn't the time or place _and_ they had a tournament to win. So he buried the feelings a little deeper and wormed his way further into the blankets, only poking his head out to trade the usual series of good-night's.

-

The day they had their second group match -- following the official opening ceremony which was like nothing either of them had ever seen -- Kun became an uncle. It was a late delivery, two weeks behind schedule, but both mother and daughter were safe and the daughter especially was a healthy baby girl.

Kun was all sunshine and smiles, on the pitch and off, so much so that some of his happiness must've rubbed off on Leo, who found himself grinning along.

As they went to bed that night certain Argentina would advance to the quarterfinals (the Olympics had a smaller pool than the World Cup so the matches went straight from group stage to quarters), Kun asked -- no doubt influenced with the birth of his niece:

"Do you see yourself settling down anytime soon?"

If Leo were drinking something, he would spat it out. As it is, he coughed loudly and cleared his throat. Of course Yesica's progression into motherhood would have prompted such thoughts. Desperately, he tried to buy himself some time.

"What do you mean?" he asked back. Okay, so it wasn't the most intelligent response, but at least it gave him a couple more seconds to think.

"Like, getting married and having kids."

"No, I mean," Leo clarified, "What do you mean by 'anytime soon'?"

"Oh." It was Kun's turn to think about it. "I don't know. Within the year, I guess?"

"Considering I don't have anyone in mind, no."

Kun made a noise of disbelief. "No one? Really?"

"What? Have you got a list lined up?" What should have been a joke came out overly defensive and Leo cringed at how his voice cracked at the end. Kun just chuckled, taking no offense.

"Hardly!" he protested. "But... I mean... surely there's someone, isn't there?"

"Does there have to be? Dinho was twice as popular and he never had anyone."

"And now he has dozens of anyones."

"That won't be me." He didn't like to think about Dinho. Or more specifically, how Dinha had left. It was a clear case of burn-out, just like with Rijkaard, but Leo couldn't help feeling there was something he could have done to prevent it. Dinho was only twenty-eight -- he could still make a bicycle kick!

"I know," Kun said, bringing Leo back to the present. Kun sighed then, and Leo trained his ears on the other. "My mom has been guilt-tripping me lately."

"She wants more grandchildren?" Leo guessed, though he felt a cold hand grip at his heart. This was the reality of his misplaced affections. Kun was the oldest son in the household. There was an enormous pressure on him to continue the family line, to say nothing of Kun's own desire for a family large enough to be their own football team.

"Not just that. It's like..." Kun paused, humming, "Well, she thinks, since you helped me so much, I should give something back. But it's not like I know any girls outside of my family and, okay, Emi's little sister, but I'm pretty sure Emi would come back from the dead to kick my ass if I married her off to you, no offense."

"None taken," Leo immediately answered as he scrambled to make sense of Kun's response. "I'm grateful to your mother for thinking about me of course," he carefully started.

"But you'd rather fall in love on your own?" Kun finished.

"Yeah. Kinda. More or less."

"That's pretty much what I told her," Kun huffed, "But you know how well that went over. But seriously," he took on a serious tone then, "I love you to the moon and back, Leo."

Leo's heart leapt to his throat and he couldn't say the words he most wanted to say.

_I love you too._

Instead, Kun blithely continued with: "So if there's anything I can help you with, and I don't mean just football, you have to let me know, okay?"

Leo made himself laugh. It sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"I know," he said, "And you know it's a two-way street. I -- " his breath hitched and he couldn't breath and still, he made himself say it: "I love you to the moon and back too." There. He said it. Then he held his breath in wait for Kun's reply.

"Gross man," Kun laughed, kicking at his bunk, "You put too much cheese in your salad tonight, now it's making you all soppy."

"Who's the one who started it," Leo lamented, heaving a much-beleaguered sigh. The one that was reserved for when Kun was being... well, Kun. The Aguerian one, he liked to call it.

"Guilty as charged," Kun freely admitted, "And with that, sweet dreams and good night."

"Night," Leo answered as the lights went off and he tried to get his racing heart under control.

-

They beat the Netherlands in the quarterfinals in overtime play and went on to play Brazil in the semis. It was a resounding three-nil win with Kun scoring his first and second goal in the tournament within ten minutes of one another. Román scored the third one off of a penalty and the game only reiterated what Leo had already known: Ronaldinho was past his prime. He wished they were close enough, that he could commiserate with the other, but no, Dinho's defeat here was his triumph. It was some bizarre parody of their match in March, where Kun had scored two goals there as well. The main difference being Leo was playing on the same side as Kun here.

Kun was happy to the point of bursting, grabbing Leo by the waist as soon as the match was over and lifting him up with a cry of joy. Leo went, adding his own voice to the cheers that filled the stadium, and clasped his hands around Kun. After Kun set him down, they strolled back to the rest of the team, shoulder-to-shoulder and practically cheek-to-cheek. Kun's smile could have lit up the stadium; he had dedicated his first goal to Maria and the second one to Emiliano. He couldn't have been happier and _Leo_ couldn't have been happier for him.

"I was really nervous," Kun told him, when it was the two of them on the bunkbed.

"It was a good match."

"Yeah, but I thought I wouldn't be able to score."

"Well you did. Twice." He dangled upside-down from the top bunk, beaming at the other. "Congratulations. You were amazing."

Kun made a clucking noise. He scratched his cheek and then turned away. "I'm happy," he started, "Really, really, really happy."

"And I'm happy for you," Leo affirmed, pulling himself back to his own bunk.

"But it's also a huge relief." The other took a deep breath and then continued with: "See, I like playing with you, I really do. But remember when I said I play better when Maradona is watching or Román is leading? Somehow, it's the opposite with you."

"What?" Leo couldn't believe his ears. "Why? How?"

"I don't know," Kun blew out some air, "You make me nervous, I guess."

"How do _I_ make _you_ nervous?" Leo demanded. His hopeless heart had skipped a beat at the implications, of course, but he ignored it, more outraged that Kun had let this piece of information slip. If it were the case, no wonder the other was reluctant to transfer to Barcelona! (Even though he knew it was just one facet of the problem.)

"Because you're so cool," Kun complained, as if that were any excuse.

"What does that even mean? And how does that make you nervous?"

"I really want to impress you, I guess?" Kun ventured. "I don't know, it doesn't make sense to me either."

"Don't you want to impress Maradona too?"

"Yeah, but that's different. I don't know him. I won't ever know him. But I know you."

"And I would think I know you too," Leo grated.

"And that's what makes it so hard," Kun stressed. "Because you already know what I can do and how I play and it's like... I can wow the audience and I have a chance of wowing Román because he doesn't know my style, but you?"

"I was plenty impressed today."

"Which is why it was such a relief."

"And in March."

"You were only subbed in for the second half!"

"But you still scored while I was on the pitch!"

"Yeah, but that's different. Anyways," Kun let out a long sigh, "Thanks for passing to me. Couldn't have done it without you, boludo."

"You were literally the only one open. Both times, in fact."

"Yeah, yeah," Kun turned off the lights.

Right as Leo was about to wish him good-night, he spoke again.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll win?"

"...Yeah." If he were honest, he would have expected the match against Brazil to be the hardest one, yet it ended up being smoother than the one against Australia. Which just went to show, one never knew how football matches were going to play out.

Kun laughed, jittery but excited. "Me too." And then: "Night."

"Night."

-

They ended up playing Nigeria in the final and it was like deja vu for both sides. It was almost exactly three years since the U20 which meant the players were the same. Like with the final of the U20, their teams were evenly matched.

As with the rest of the tournament, the final was on a larger scale than anything Leo had ever experienced. Nearly ninety thousand people were in the stadium, having traveled from every stretch of the globe, all there to watch the match. And then he passed to Angel -- who was there and unguarded -- and Angel made the shot and it was in the goal and not even a penalty and there were still thirty minutes left in the match but it didn't matter. Kun was subbed out at seventy-nine minutes and Leo right before the start of additional time. They huddled together on the bench in the final nail-biting four minutes.

And then the whistle sounded, announcing the end of the match and naming them -- _Argentina_ \-- Olympic champions.

He turned to Kun and threw his arms around him and he could feel Kun's cheek curving into a familiar smile.

"We did it," Kun murmured, craning his head to kiss Leo's cheek.

"We did it," Leo answered, unable to believe the turn of events. "We won."

"We won," Kun repeated. He pulled back and stared at Leo. "Pinch me," he begged. Leo did so, tweaking his ear, and he grinned even wider at the contact which was meant to be painful. "We won!" he said again.

They were smiling the same smile as they returned to their team. Everyone was hugging and kissing everyone, shaking hands and giving thanks and dropping to their knees in front of the stadium because -- because this was it. They were Olympic champions.

What followed was a delirious blur: he could only remember the gold medals, the bouquets, and being draped with Kun under the Albiceleste. Later he would see photos of the two of them, inseparable during the awards ceremony, and how he had thrown his arms around Kun's neck and kissed his cheek in front of ninety thousand live spectators and God only knew how many broadcast viewers and Kun beamed and kissed him back and there was the flash of cameras and more cheering.

In that moment, it was suddenly clear: the time was now.

The realization sobered him up immediately and he spent their victory lap around the stadium alternating between signing autographs and waving and posing for picture and shaking hands while thinking of how to proceed. There was nonstop celebrations from the end of the match to the closing ceremony the next day -- a spectacular affair matched only by the grand opening. As Leo was watching the firework finale, he turned to Kun and saw a rainbow of colors sparkling in his eyes.

He wanted to say it then, but it was too loud. He wouldn't have been able to hear himself. So he waited and though he told himself he had been patient for years so what was another couple of hours, still, the last couple hours were the most strenuous by far.

He didn't dare think what Kun's reaction would be.

When they were finally allowed to return to their room, it was long past midnight. Kun needed to be coaxed from the couch to the bed; he was too tired to take off his clothing so Leo tucked him into bed. Patience, he told himself, before clambering up to the top bunk and turning off the lights. The exhaustion he had been staving off caught up to him in an instant and he was asleep before he knew it.

Come morning and Leo was rested and refreshed and still glowing with triumphant glory. He was also more determined to confess than ever.

Kun, for once, had woken up before him. Leo could hear him singing in the shower. Then he threw off his blankets and got dressed, having decided he ought to make a good impression... or something along those lines. Well, basically, he didn't want to lay his heart out while clad in boxer shorts.

"Oh, morning," Kun greeted, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Morning," Leo answered, keeping his gaze trained on his friend's face.

"Some night, eh?"

"Pocho and Pablo stayed out long after us."

"That's because they're grown-ups," Kun primly said. They traded grins and burst out laughing.

"Get dressed and come here," Leo said, gesturing to a spot on the couch, "I want to tell you something."

"Ooh," Kun grinned, "More secrets? I can't wait -- one second!" He grabbed some clothing from his suitcase and ducked back into the bathroom, emerging in record time in a matching Albiceleste t-shirt and shorts. Leo took one look at him and burst out laughing again.

"Shut up," Kun rolled his eyes, going over to the couch and seating himself by Leo, "It's the only pair of clean clothing I've got left, okay?"

"It suits you," Leo conceded, "Really brings out your eyes."

"Bastard," Kun swore without venom, "So c'mon," he prompted, once Leo had stopped laughing, "Spill."

Leo took a deep breath and did just that.

"I really like you," he said.

Kun blinked.

"Okay...?" he answered. "I really like you too?"

"No," Leo huffed, because of course Kun would be oblivious here too, "I mean I like you. A lot."

"And I like you a lot too," Kun answered, "What is this about really, Leo?"

"I love you," Leo blurted out.

"And I love you too," Kun repeated, practically parroting Leo at that point. "Didn't I _just_ tell you I loved you to the moon and back?"

"Yes, but I mean romantically," Leo stressed.

"And you think I don't?" Kun retorted, snorting.

Leo felt his jaw drop.

"What?" he asked, not daring himself to think.

"I thought we went over this in November," Kun grumbled, "But I mean, I know things change. So maybe they had? I wasn't sure."

"Why didn't you say anything?!" Leo wanted to tear his hair out and maybe strangle Kun while he was at it. Here he was, analyzing and overanalyzing, and Kun had just... known all along?!

"I thought it was obvious," Kun shrugged, "Sorry it wasn't."

"So are we a thing now?" Leo asked.

"Weren't we always?" Kun countered.

"You're an idiot," Leo groaned. "I can't believe I love you."

"Aw thanks," Kun leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "I love you too, boludo." And then he leaned back, and grinned, "Now that that's out of the way, wanna see how hungover the rest of our compatriots are?"

Leo laughed. "Lead the way," he prompted, and Kun did just that.


	15. And how I am sure like never before of my reasons for defying reason

Chapter 15  
 **And how I am sure like never before of my reasons for defying reason**

Leo's clarification that the love he felt was romantic had been a bolt out of the blue for Kun. He was grateful Leo had been so caught up in the moment, likely certain Kun would push him away or play it off as a joke, that he ignored the millisecond where Kun couldn't think up anything to say.

In that millisecond, Kun's mouth moved on its own and he heard himself reciprocating Leo's feelings. He was even more grateful none of his horror was showing up on his face, because Leo would've assumed the worst from it.

He wasn't disgusted. In fact, as soon as the millisecond of shock and disbelief had passed -- because who the hell knew everyone else on both their teams and the national team had been right all along? -- Kun was filled with a warm and happy feeling. A sweeter emotion than the exhilaration of the days following their triumph at the Olympics. He loved Leo and had said as much during the tournament and he was most comfortable being with him by a long shot. Even though he liked Angel and Oscar, along with Maxi, Diego, and Fernando, he couldn't imagine sharing the same ridiculous conversations and escapades with them.

What he was most grateful to was Leo. Specifically, Leo's reaction after their mutual confessions. He didn't crowd around Kun or try to change their relationship at all. They went to their teammates' rooms, as per Kun's suggestions (because he was curious and also desperate to take his mind off of, well, their more explicitly defined relationship), and found the rest of the team in various states of disarray. Fernando, Nicolas, Luci, and Roman were missing from their rooms entirely and it seemed they hadn't returned since the night before the finals. Pocho threw his cellphone in their general direction when Kun tried to open the curtains while Pablo took one look at them and slammed the door in their faces, grumbling how it was too early in the morning to babysit.

With the rest of the team unwilling or unable to distract, Kun still really didn't want to go back to their room. Leo seemed to sense this reluctance as he asked if Kun wanted to go for a late morning jog. Kun readily agreed and they returned to their room to change into jogging gear before heading out onto the field.

Beijing was still sweltering hot -- it felt like it was over fourty degrees -- in the last week of August. Both of them were sweating before they even set foot on the track. But Kun was determined to run and Leo equally determined to keep up so off they went. On a normal day, they were evenly matched; Leo was faster over short distances but Kun could actually sprint a kilometer, but with the heat and the humidity, it seemed like he was dragging a plow in his wake. After the second lap, he turned to glance at Leo. Leo's face was glistening with sweat and his hair was slicked back as a result. He caught Kun's glance and flashed a quick smile and Kun was helpless to return it.

They finished the third lap, marking one kilometer down, and though Kun regularly jogged five in the mornings, it was impossible in this climate. He stopped then and Leo did the same, lifting up his shirt to mop the sweat from his brow. All of a sudden, he was acutely aware of Leo's stare -- and its implications. He quickly pulled his shirt down and Leo turned away, flushing.

"Sorry," Leo muttered, and Kun instantly felt bad.

"Don't be," he started. He would have cited the dozen times he had ogled Leo in the same fashion -- because he totally had -- but was interrupted by Leo's parents.

"Lionel?" Celia Cuccittini called from the bleachers, "Sergio?"

"Ma? Pa?" Leo asked, brows furrowing. Kun turned to look as well.

"Morning Mr. Messi, Mrs. Cuccittini," he greeted.

"What are you doing here?" Leo asked at the same time.

"What do you mean what are _we_ doing here," Jorge snorted, "Batista's got half the complex looking for the two of you!"

"I was the one who thought you might've gone for a jog," Celia added.

"Why are they looking for us?" Kun asked.

"Because you've got a flight out in two hours!"

"Oh," they said at the same time. They traded glances and then burst out laughing while Leo's parents did the same thing and sighed.

"Olympic champions, can you believe it?" Jorge asked his wife, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Honey, you're being too harsh on them. They're just boys. Exercise is very important," Celia reached over to pinch both their cheeks, "But you've made us so worried for you, we thought you'd been kidnapped by those Brazilian players as revenge!"

"Only you thought that," Jorge interjected.

"Still!"

Kun let himself be pulled from the track back to their room where the housekeepers had already packed their suitcases. They didn't even have enough time to shower, changing directly from their sweat-soaked jogging clothes to more comfortable apparel for the long airplane ride. Leo's parents were waiting outside the door so there wasn't any time to talk; as soon as they were dressed they found Batista waiting for them too. He knocked both of them upside of their heads and then hugged them tight, kissing their foreheads before congratulating them on a job well done.

Then the Olympic Committee was ferrying them from the village for athletes to the airport and they were bidding Leo's parents good-bye right before the line to security. They had decided to use the downtime to tour the rest of China, figuring the opportunity didn't come often.

"Take good care of yourselves," Celia told them. "And you," she turned to Kun, "Call your mother at least once a week!"

"Yes ma'am," Kun all-but-saluted.

"Come here," she told him, and he did, letting himself be pulled into an embrace. She planted a firm kiss on both his cheeks and then tweaked his ear. "Thank you for being such good friends with my son. I would've never been able to spend so much time with Jorge otherwise."

Kun flushed, wondering if their mothers were in contact. He would just die of humiliation if both their parents knew about _it_ before him.

"It's not like that," he protested, though he had to pause to kiss her back, thinking of all the times Leo had guided him through his various crises of faith and filled with a wave of regret for how he hadn't even tried to find out Leo's number when he had been ordered off the pitch for three months, "I'm the one who's always being helped by Leo."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Celia reassured him. She smiled Leo's smile, where her eyes softened and crinkled before her cheeks dimpled, and she patted Kun's face. "You really made him more mature."

Of course Leo finished his own conversation with his father then.

"I was always mature," he protested, but his mother only laughed. She hugged and kissed him too and told him to take good care of himself while Jorge and Kun shook hands. Then the two of them proceeded through security.

After security, Kun's stomach rumbled.

"Man, I'm starving," he declared. "How about you?"

"I could eat a cow," Leo answered, right as his stomach rumbled in concurrence.

"Alright," Kun grinned, slinging an arm about Leo's shoulders and steering him to the food court at the airport, "Let's find us a cow, eh?"

As they were digging into their tri-tip steaks -- cooked the American way, unfortunately, but they were so hungry at that point, Kun would've eaten the meat raw -- Kun was relieved Leo didn't think to follow-up on their discussion in the morning. He was still a little light-headed from the turn of events and now terrified and horrified that even their parents were in on it -- like, on one hand, he was close with his parents and close with close friends' parents (see: Emiliano and Angel), and on the other hand, he didn't think _his_ parents were so friendly with any rosarinos (or Newell's supporters) outside of Leo's folks.

Thankfully, Leo gave him plenty of time to think. They sat side-by-side in the waiting lounge, Kun with his iPod and Leo with his PSP, and even when they boarded the plane and went to their assigned seats, Leo continued playing, right up until the in-flight meal was served.

The thing was, Leo had been a constant in his daydreams of the future. When they retired -- as they would inevitably because no footballer, no matter how talented, would be able to play for the whole of their lives -- and took up secondary jobs as cattle rancher and high school teacher respectively, he had always figured they would live either next door or across the street from one another. And yeah, it was a childish assumption, much like Leo marrying Yesica, but he had also hoped one of his nine-or-ten kids might fall in love with Leo's single kid so they could be grandparents together, so it wasn't like he didn't think about their future together. It was just that Leo imagined them living in the same house. Maybe even sharing the same bed. Kun flushed deeply at that. He darted a glance at Leo, who had -- of course -- chosen to look at him in that moment.

Maybe Leo knew what he was thinking; maybe it was written over Kun's face. Either way, he flushed red too and turned back to his PSP in record time.

Kun chided his own dirty mind. Leo wasn't that much older than him and they had both talked about how they weren't ready for commitment (well, for getting married and having children) at their age. Mainly because there was still so much football left to play. Plus, even after confessing and hearing Kun say it back, Leo hadn't tried to kiss him on the lips or cop a feel, so maybe for him, romance was what they already had? Kun was completely alright with that... okay, no, he would be a little disappointed if that was all they would ever have -- which just went to show he was an indecisive little shit who couldn't make up his mind and a terrible friend to boot because why couldn't he just talk about this with Leo, who was literally right next to him?

He couldn't. He would sooner die than try. It was just too embarrassing and he couldn't even sort his own feelings out; he just knew he liked Leo and wanted to be with him, even after they could no longer play football professionally together. And he was happy that Leo wanted the same.

Leo turned off his PSP then, slotting it in with the magazines. Then he turned to Kun and smiled and Kun smiled back. Their cheeks were still rosy, but it wasn't an "oh my God I'm thinking terrible things about my best friend" sort of flush. He inched closer to Kun and rested his head on Kun's shoulder and without even thinking about it, Kun turned so his head was rested against Leo's.

In that moment, because they were together, everything felt right. And, as cheesy as it sounded (Kun was again glad he didn't have to verbalize such embarrassing thoughts), he began to believe: as long as they had each other, it would be alright.

-

The two of them slept through most of the nine hour flight. Then the plane arrived at Frankfurt and it was with a sinking heart that Kun realized they would go their separate ways in a matter of hours. His flight to Madrid was at 11:15, while Leo's flight to Barcelona was half an hour after that.

"Lounge?" Leo asked, after they cleared EU customs.

"Sure thing."

And so Leo led them to the lounge. Finding seats was a pain because there were most travellers than normal, it being summertime in the northern hemisphere and all, and they were left with a loveseat or two chairs facing the opposite way.

Leo turned to him with a questioning gaze.

Kun felt his face grow hot. There was nothing wrong with taking the loveseat -- it even came with a matching side table. They had just spent the entire flight slumped against one another! But at the same time, taking it seemed to mean something, and Kun was hit with another tremor of nervousness. Right as he was about to muster his courage and lead Leo to the loveseat, a lovey-dovey couple who were on their honeymoon slid into the spot.

He didn't know whether he was disappointed or relieved. Maybe both. Regardless, he forced himself to chuckle, leading Leo to the two individual sofa seats which were facing away from one another.

"Do you have a preference?" he asked Leo.

Leo shrugged and set his bags down on the left one. Then he grabbed the seat and turned it so that it was facing the right one. It was a good thing the lounge was plushly carpetted; the motion alone turned heads.

Kun smiled and Leo smiled back and they took their seats. It was dumb, but they kind of just sat there and stared at each other for a while. Kun felt he should say something, but everything he thought of sounded way too sappy and, well, more suited to sending someone off to war than dealing with a completely normal length of separation which was actually shorter than usual. They would see each other in two _weeks_ ' time -- in the qualifying match against Paraguay -- and here he was, filled to the brim with so much pre-emptive longing it was like they'd be apart for two years. Or something.

He cleared his throat and awkwardly rose to his feet.

"I'm going to get something to eat. Want anything?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," Leo answered, smiling at him.

"Sure thing."

It took some time to remember what he was leaving for -- food and drinks, right -- and that the buffet in the lounge was in the opposite direction. Kun thanked his lucky stars his first match wouldn't be against Barcelona -- their teams weren't set to play until October -- because if he had to face Leo across the pitch at this instant, he feared he'd trip over his own shoes. He was distracted and confused and really really happy and just... all out of sorts. He was looking forward to going back to Athletico, that much was certain, and he had missed spending time with Maxi and Diego. The two of them were like the older brothers he discovered at age nineteen.

Eventually, he maneuvered himself to the buffet and piled two plates with things both of them liked. He tucked two bottles of water underneath his arm and slowly made his way back to their seats. Leo was on his phone, texting rapidly, but he looked up and smiled at Kun as he sat down.

"Who is it?" Kun asked.

"My mom."

"Oh, tell her thanks for reminding us about our flight."

"Will do." Leo quickly typed it up and then put his phone away, turning to the food.

"What's the matter?" Kun asked, as he was halfway through a goat cheese pastry, "You don't like it?"

"No, I do," Leo reassured him. "It's just -- Maradona announced I was to succeed him."

Kun's eyebrows went up.

"What? When? Where?"

"In Buenos Aires, on television. It happened while we were flying, but my mom texted me about it now."

"Wow," Kun breathed, setting down his plate and looking at Leo with pure admiration. "Congratulations. Guess D10S still has an eye for talent, eh?"

Leo flashed a tight-lipped smile. "I'm honored, don't get me wrong," he started.

"But?"

"But I'm nothing like him. Our personalities are nothing alike and our playstyles are even further apart," Leo bit his lower lip and added, "Maradona took risks I wouldn't dare."

"Of course you're nothing alike," Kun shrugged, "You're different people."

"But people keep trying to compare us."

"Because they don't know you. And maybe because they don't know how you play. But just 'cause you're different doesn't mean you can't be just as good." And then, because God hadn't struck him down for saying so, Kun continued: "Or better."

Leo went pale.

"I wouldn't dare," he answered, quickly making the cross. "I was just hoping he would coach us."

"Maradona?"

"Yeah."

Kun blinked, taken aback. "Have you not seen his managerial career?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "It's not exactly a transferrable talent."

"That was because of his health issues," Leo insisted.

"And you think he's done with them now?"

"Didn't he just say he's been clean for four years?"

"Well yeah, but..." It was Kun's turn to bite his bottom lip. He had known Leo idolized Maradona and of course he had his own photograph and t-shirt of the Argentinian god, but he wasn't sure how much of it was willful ignorance and how much was wishful thinking. Well, at the very least it didn't seem like Basile would willingly give up his position so he didn't think the AFA would pass over the reins so easily... though it was clear Maradona wanted the chance to coach.

Leo was still looking at him expectantly.

"But?" he prompted.

"I don't know," Kun shrugged again, "It'd be nice to have him, I guess. An honor, like you said. But I feel like there's just a lot of expectations," he made a face, "You know I hate to disappoint the fans."

Leo smiled at that.

"Don't worry," he said, as if it were so simple, "We won't." And only then did Kun remember Leo's true back-up plan wasn't to be an English teacher or a cattle herder but to be a football coach. Because for Leo, the world began and ended with the sport and Kun sometimes envied him for that.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but the PA was announcing the flight to Madrid was boarding, so he settled on touching Leo's shoulder as he stood up.

"Even if you're not a better player," Kun started, "I'm sure you'd be a better manager."

"Thanks boludo," Leo answered, reaching up to touch his hand. Kun leaned down to kiss him on the cheek and then, after noticing how their fellow passengers were staring at them, beat a hasty retreat, practically sprinting to his gate. He was one of the first passengers to board and he slid into his seat and tried to get his heart rate down.

Two weeks without Leo. He wasn't sure he'd make it, but if he had to have two weeks _with_ Leo right now, he was sure he'd die. He would make it, just to see Leo at the end of it.

-

As soon as he got off the plane, Kun was determined to throw himself into practice. Athletico had a good chance of entering the Champion's League this time around and though the realist in him knew they didn't have a snowball's chance of winning the thing, still, he held on to a small sliver of hope that maybe -- maybe, if he gave a little more, if he spent more time practicing, learned how the team played... maybe they'd win.

Because of this fervent practicing, Kun didn't check his phone until after they beat Schalke 4-0, this qualifying for the group stage matches in September. It was just as well, as Leo didn't send anything until after the match.

 _how's your head? looked like you hit it pretty hard_ , the message read.

Kun grinned upon receiving it; Leo's texts always made him smile. Diego noticed his grin and rolled his eyes, elbowing Kun in the side.

"Hey, hey, keep your PDA to the bathroom," his teammate joked. But Kun was too busy thinking up a reply to answer.

Inspiration struck him and he grinned even wider, quickly typing back:  
 _who is this?  
how did you get  
my number?_.

He hit send before he remembered there was such a thing as caller ID, but by then it was too late. Leo replied within the minute.

_this is LEO Geri's best friend the tall handsome guy whose number you asked for_

Kun cracked up at that and his teammates, who were busy drinking their body weight in sparkling water, stared at him.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized. He didn't even look up.

_i kind of  
remember a  
leo but he was  
MY best friend  
not geri's_

Was that too childish? He had meant for it to be playful, but clearly Leo had half a hang-up over how he thought Geri was handsome (which he totally was).

 _oh right how could i forget_ , came the reply, _geri's best friend is cesc so i guess there's no room for me :(_. Of course Leo would punctuate this with a sad smilie. Kun quickly shuffled to the bathroom, ignoring the waggled eyebrows of certain teammates, and continued texting.

_poor you_

To which Leo answered: _poor me indeed :(_

Kun grinned and tried to humor him:  
 _i could be  
your best friend  
but then  
MY leo  
would be  
sad :(_

Leo's answer to that was: _who would tell him?_

Which was just begging Kun to say:  
 _me  
because  
i tell him  
everything_

Which was stupid and cheesy and also a lie; he had just sat with Leo for nine hours on a plane and didn't tell him anything (mainly because he was trying to get his thoughts sorted out and not because he had anything to hide, mind you) but still. Kun wondered where he even got these lines, it wasn't like any of the guys or indeed any of his siblings liked sappy romances. He blamed his parents, who could still be caught making doe eyes at one another like they were fifteen instead of fifty.

Then his cellphone vibrated, signalling an incoming call. From Leo. Of course.

Kun scrambled to receive it.

"Leo?" he asked.

"Everything, huh?" Leo repeated, and Kun felt himself flush.

"Not everything," he quickly felt the need to qualify, "But, like, ninety percent of everything." And when Leo chuckled, "Okay, maybe ninety-nine."

"That was a nice header," Leo said instead, throwing Kun a bone by way of switching the subject back to football, "It was a good game."

The familiar warmness that came whenever Leo praised him bubbled up in his chest. Kun swallowed, thanking God Leo didn't have to watch him now. It was absurd how self-conscious he was feeling, all over little things which had been commonplace between them for years. Or, well, months and then a two-year gap and then more months.

"Thanks," he said, when Leo didn't say anything else. "Good luck on your match too."

"Geri sends his regards. Says good job scoring twice against Brazil."

"How's he settling in?" he asked, and then immediately corrected himself. "My bad, there's nothing for him _to_ settle. Well what about you then? Is the new jersey heavier?"

"I'm fine." Leo paused. "I miss you though."

Kun swallowed, blinking back the onset of tears. They were twenty (and twenty-one!!) years old, had regularly been apart without any contact for months, and it was always because of him that they remained apart. So it was hardly Romeo and Juliet. Yet here he was, getting all weepy after being apart for two days!

"I miss you too," he murmured as soon as he found his voice.

They stayed like that for a while, the line silent save for the sound of their breathing. Finally, Simao came to get him, letting him know they were piling back on the bus.

"I have to go now," Kun said, "Good night."

"Night." He waited for Leo to hang up, which he did, and then he closed his own phone. Simao was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked.

Kun laughed, clapping a hand over the midfielder's shoulder. "A bit early to call it paradise," he answered. And then he turned to the rest of the team and profusely apologized for keeping them up and they all hurried back onto the bus.

-

It seemed half the national team had competed in the Olympics, so much so that the reporters back home had dubbed them "the Olympic squad". Kun was happy as ever to see Leo again and playing on the same side as him was as satisfying as it had always been but neither of them could shake the new nuances to their relationship. It wasn't just them though -- that would have been embarrassing -- but the whole team. Rumors had been circulating that the director of the AFA was keen to have Basile replaced with Maradona and the squad opinion was divided almost straight down the line.

Slightly more awkward was how Leo was one hundred percent behind the replacement while Kun had quietly voiced his support for Basile. It was Basile, after all, who had let both of them play. Plus, it didn't make sense to him to switch managers between World Cups when everyone knew the test of fire for them _was_ said tournament. He explained this to Leo while they were playing FIFA during the downtime (so basically, trying their best to be normal) and Leo surprised him again with how intent he was on seeing Basile replaced. Kun hadn't thought there was a strain in their relationship -- both were professional to the point of frosty -- but now that Leo had been taken under Guardiola's wing, it seemed all he could think of was having an even better player as the national coach.

Kun knew it was childish, but he couldn't help feeling slighted that Leo didn't see the light of his argument. What made it slightly better was that Leo clearly felt the same way. It was like the age-old argument of his loyalty to first Independiente and then Athletico and playing club matches with Leo -- they went round and round their respective arguments with no chance of coming to terms.

The match against Paraguay had been a bad one with Gabriel (the Real Madrid one) scoring an own goal thirteen minutes in and Carlos getting a red card for cussing out the ref seventeen minutes after that. It had been an upward climb -- though they were expected to win the match -- and Kun couldn't take any pleasure in his goal because it only evened the score. Gabriel looked so miserable when they were lining up at the end, Kun hated himself for thinking such traitorous and ungrateful thoughts. Being a defender was hard enough whenever the opposing team scored a goal; there was no sense in piling on the responsibilities when they were an eleven-man team.

The thing was, the mood of doom and gloom didn't lighten, even with the coming of spring. When they traveled to Peru to play against their national team, the score was again an unsatisfying 1-1. Basile made the mistake of saying what Kun, at least, had been thinking. Namely: at least we didn't give the other team a goal this time. Maybe others had been thinking it too, but all of a sudden, the team -- Kun included -- was united against him, furious that he would spite one of their own after the fact. Gabriel, who hadn't even been fielded, tried to come to Basile's defense, but at that moment, Kun knew: there was a break at the top and Basile wouldn't be able to recover.

Leo gave him a knowing look at the end of it, which made Kun wonder _how_ he had seen it coming. As far as he knew, Leo didn't have private meetings with Basile the way Roman did, but then again, he could remember a handful of times Basile had taken Leo aside. It was possible Leo sheltered him from the negative things, knowing Kun's more... explosive... temperament.

Regardless, he turned to Leo when it was just the two of them en route to Spain, taking his hand and kissing his cheek.

"You were right," he admitted, "About Basile."

"Mm," Leo said, reaching over to toy with the bit of hair that skirted on the nape of his neck. Kun shivered and refrained from leaning into the touch. They were still on the airplane, for crying out loud.

"Aren't I always?" he asked, giving a little tug before taking his hand away. His tone was so self-possessed and his smile so smug, the inherent sportsman in Kun wanted to make him eat his words.

He twined their fingers instead, and smiled when Leo smiled at him.

"Only ninety percent of the time," he insisted.

"Only ninety?" Leo repeated, affecting a frown that completely failed to reach his eyes (which were instead filled with affection).

"Ninety's enough," Kun rolled his eyes.

"If you say so," Leo answered. He gave a ridiculous flutter of his eyelashes, as if this were some sort of come-on and the timing and location was just so absurd, Kun burst out laughing. Leo joined him right after and they laughed until the attendant came to politely request them to quiet down because other passengers were trying to sleep. Then they snickered behind their hands and traded silly faces until they fell asleep leaned up against one another.

-

At the start of the league match against Barcelona, Kun was feeling pretty good about himself. He had just scored three goals in two games in the Champion's League and he'd been taking extra time on the weekends to practice strength and flexibility.

But, as was kind of expected, Barcelona with Guardiola at the helm -- and Leo donning the #10 -- was a different beast entirely. The loss they had suffered in March was paid back in interest. For reference, Leo scored at nine minutes in -- but it was Barcelona's third goal of the match. Three goals in nine minutes. Athletico's defense was all over the place and their offense wasn't much better. It wasn't as bad on paper as their six-nil loss in 2007 since it was six-one, but it hurt all the same. Because they were better than they were then; because _he_ was so much better now than a year prior.

And still, Leo was better.

The whole team sat in dead silence on the bus ride back. Kun's cellphone beeped once, signalling he had received a text, but he turned it off without even checking who it was from. He was angry, angry at a lot of people, but mostly he was angry with himself. There were a dozen moments where he could have done something -- could have done _more_ \-- but he didn't. Couldn't. Like, ninety percent of the time, he could actively force himself to play his best. It was just so frustrating that that ten percent this time happened to be during a match against Leo.

-

Kun didn't turn his phone on until the next day after he had gotten back from training. Aguirre had given them the pep talk of pep talks and Kun very nearly cried. This was the importance of having a good manager; not only was there someone cheering for them even at away games, but there'd be someone cheering for them after the match. He got back exhilarated and ready to play the beautiful game once more and turned on his cellphone.

Sure enough, there was a missed message from Leo. Actually, there were five missed messages from Leo, sent sporadically from the end of the match to, well, five hours ago. Kun scrolled through them, starting from bottom.

_i can understand if you're mad  
it's okay to be mad i would be too  
you can cuss me out  
like i did  
sorry :(_

And Kun was glad he didn't see the messages as they had come. Before Aguirre's speech, he would have been simmering in self-loathing and might've lashed out at Leo. But now that the loss had been put in perspective and they had a rematch in January and March to look forward to, he wasn't even bitter anymore. Plus, Leo was trying to be sympathetic in his own way and Kun couldn't fault him for that.

 _i'm not mad :)_ , he typed back  
 _aguirre just  
gave an A+  
pep talk  
feeling a lot  
better  
thanks :)_

Leo's response was immediate. It was so fast, Kun wondered if he had the message saved somewhere, though to be fair, he knew Leo was pretty damn fast on the phone, having spent years keeping in touch with his family through SMS and emails (the weirdo).

_pep is much better come to barcelona and you'll see he says we're going to win a treble this year but if you come we can win it next year too_

Kun smiled at that, glad they could reliably bounce back to center.

 _dream on  
boludo_, he wrote back. Then he closed the phone and went to sleep.

-

Five days after the humiliating 6-1 loss at Camp Nou, the two of them were flying back to Buenos Aires for another pair of qualifying matches. The tension between Basile and the players was obvious and though no one said anything outright, there were conspiratorical whispers and hooded glances in the locker room that Kun couldn't ignore. Their intentions were clear: Basile was being traded for D10S.

The lot of them turned first to Román and then to Carlos, when Román declared he wanted no part in the scuffle. Carlos had revolutionary's blood in him and it boiled at the chance at a fight. The tussle was bloodless at least, but the end result left Kun with a bad taste in his mouth; it left him feeling sorry for Basile, whose only fault -- insofar as he could see -- was voicing what most of them had thought with regards to the Paraguay match.

Despite this magnaminous end, Basile was poised and professional throughout. He gave good advice in short clipped tones and took no offense with the majority of his players ignored. Though one couldn't say he was instrumental in Argentina's victory over Uruguay and then Chile, it was apparent the team he had been managing since 2006 was still incredibly capable.

No one gave him any credit though and there was practically fanfare when it was announced -- after they had won 2-1 against Uruguay (Kun was particularly pleased that the two goals had been scored by himself and Leo -- in the first 15 minutes to boot) -- that the next match against Chile would be his last.

"He didn't deserve it," Kun said, when it was just the two of them.

Leo paused the game and turned to look at him. There was an edge in his eyes, the same dark glint he had when they met on opposite sides of the pitch.

"Maybe," Leo conceded, when a whole minute of silence had passed, "But he wouldn't have won us the third star."

"You don't know that."

"Basile is too sentimental." It was the first time Leo was explicitly condemning their manager. "Like with Pékerman, he thinks the old guard should play so long as they want to play. Instead we should be practicing with Pablo, with Pocho, with Ángel, with Eze -- people who are actually going to win us that star."

Leo's eyes were hard and his jaw was clenched. What he said was true but it was still shocking for Kun, to hear him renounce the idols of their childhood so. But he did not say it to be cruel and he knew he couldn't have been easy for Leo -- who was far more sentimental than he liked to show -- to come to said conclusion.

What was Kun to say to that?

He ducked his head in a quick nod.

"I understand," he said. And he did. Even if he didn't want to. Even if he knew someday, within the decade, even, the future stars of their national football team would say the same thing about him. About them.

"Good," Leo answered. He unpaused the game and they continued their match where Leo ended up winning 6-1.

-

Leo invited him to Paris for the Ballon d'Or award. He placed second this time, an improvement from last year's third, and everyone said he would beat out Cristiano Ronaldo in 2009. They went to all the places they visited in 2007, starting with dinner at the Eiffel Tower, and Kun kept wondering if anything was going to be different. But nope, they laughed and joked the whole way through and when Leo prompted him for a cumbia song as they were holding hands and walking along the Seine, he ended up singing the same one -- the one he had fought with Angel about and ended up liking. Leo remembered and had picked up the lyrics in the year so at least they got to sing along.

There were three more league matches after Paris. Then they took the same flight back to Buenos Aires and were all but mobbed by their families at the airport. Kun had last seen Maria in October -- so, two months ago -- but she was practically a different person in that time. Babies grew so fast, he couldn't believe it! At least she liked the toys he got her, though Yesica insisted on minimizing the football apparel. AND she wouldn't let Kun give her an Independiente t-shirt!

In something that was out of the blue then, Leo invited him to spend Christmas Eve with his family in Rosario. Kun didn't understand the significance of the invitation until he had already sent his apology. He'd put a lot of sad faces to demonstrate his regret, but his wording had been cautious. Leo replied within the day, saying he understood, but it didn't stop Kun from wanting to take his refusal back.

It was weird, missing Leo in Argentina. They were so often back for international matches, he almost expected to be rooming with Leo whenever he was home. But they had actually spent more time apart than together in Argentina (like in any country really) and that, for once, wasn't Kun's fault. It was simply the result of Leo being rosarino and himself being bonaerense. Now _there_ was a proper Romeo and Juliet set-up, his conscious snarked.

They saw each other on the first day of the new year at least, though this was because they were flying out together from Buenos Aires because whoever was in charge of scheduling matches in La Liga didn't have a soul and the league started up on the third. Kun took pride in being better than Leo at adjusting to timezones now, though it was due to Leo's advice. It was just that he was better at starving himself for eighteen hours at a time.

Their teams played against one another three days after the first league match. It was the round of sixteen for the Copa del Rey at Athlético's home stadium. Kun was benched because of an injury he had sustained in the match against Valencia which first, wasn't anymore than a bruise, and second, didn't impede his play at all. But the one thing he had to admit about Aguirre was that at the end of the day, a player was never just a player for him. He got that solid look in his eyes and Kun knew better than to argue.

And so he sat, useless and helpless, on the bench while Barcelona thrashed them 3-1. It was impossible to know then, but between the 3-1 loss to Valencia and this match, Aguirre's formerly unchallenged standing in the board was being quickly eroded. If Kun had known that, he would have fought tooth and nail to play. The difference between the two teams had grown smaller; 3-1 was a lot better than 6-1. If Aguirre had let him play, if Aguirre had listened to him and got him off the bench...

That year, the Player of the Year awards were given between the twin legs of the round of sixteen match for the Copa del Rey. As with the Ballon d'Or, Leo invited him to tag along for that ceremony though Kun was reluctant. There was already a lot of furious speculation from the rojiblancos that he was thinking of moving to Barcelona (after the photos of him and Leo at the Ballon d'Or were published) and he didn't want to add fuel to the fire. Plus, he didn't really want to go to Zurich again, especially since everyone knew the lineup would be the same as the Ballon d'Or. But Leo made a sad emoticon when he said he wasn't keen on attending and then he added his father had already flown back to Argentina. After that, well, there wasn't much else for Kun to say. He agreed and he went and he had a good time.

He enjoyed Leo's company. That had never changed. In fact Kun was starting to suspect it never would. But he liked having Leo to himself, or at least when they were among close friends and family. The incessantly flashing cameras at the awards ceremonies made him feel like a caged animal and they were blinding in their intensity. When they were by themselves in the bathroom, he asked Leo how he managed to walk with so many cameramen on him. Leo just winked at him through the mirror and said 'trade secret' and damn it if he didn't find it attractive.

They made it through the ceremony where surprise surprise, Cristiano Ronaldo won first again with Leo and Fernando following up second and third. Then Leo dragged him on a whirlwind midnight tour of Zurich. At the end of it, Kun had to admit it had its own charming points, though they both agreed Paris was the superior tourist destination.

Then it was back to Spain and the second leg of the round of sixteen. Aguirre had deemed him fit to play this time around and though he made the starting eleven, he was shocked to see Guardiola had chosen to bench Leo. The end score was better this time, 2-1 instead of 3-1, though it was still a loss and the fans were still out for blood. What Kun couldn't help noticing though, was how, as soon as Aguirre called him to the bench, Guardiola subbed Leo in. He didn't know what to make of it and figured he was thinking too much. Except then he caught Guardiola looking at him from across the pitch and he quickly looked away; irrationally certain Leo's manager knew everything about them -- even the bits he didn't know.

The whole of January ended up being the worst month in Athlético's recent history. They lost five matchs and played two to a draw. Basically, it was a month without a win. As a result, even though the match against Valladolid on the first (in February) was a good one, because the end score was 1-2 and not 2-1, Aguirre was sacked.


	16. Embracing the seasons we dance through the colors both followed and led

Chapter 16  
 **Embracing the seasons we dance through the colors both followed and led**

In the early morning after he had scored both goals in their match against Santander, Leo was woken by the buzz of security.

"There's a Sergio Aguero here to see you," the guard at the front said. "Teammate from the national team. Should I let him in?"

Leo was immediately wide awake.

"Yes. Yes of course."

"Understood." The line went dead and he stared at the video screen for a couple seconds. Then the weight of the visit hit him and he scrambled desperately to clean his apartment up. Like he had told Kun when he first moved into the place, it had a fantastic view of the oceanfront while being walking distance from the prettiest cathedral in Europe. He still had neighbors to the left and right of him but at least they were quiet and kept to themselves. In the five minutes it took for Kun to get from the gate to the front door, Leo managed to get the apartment to a livable standard. He dashed to the door as soon as the doorbell chimed, and swung it open.

Kun -- who was in no condition to be wowed -- all but collapsed against him.

"Kun."

"Sorry for coming without telling you," Kun mumbled against his shoulder, "I couldn't sleep and didn't know who else to go to and..."

"You're being ridiculous," Leo hushed, "And I'm always happy to see you." And he was, even though he was internally fretting over Kun's state, at least Kun had immediately gone to _him_. He grabbed Kun by the shoulders and steered him into the guest bedroom. Housecleaning had been by during the game which meant it was a matter of easing him onto the mattress and pulling the freshly-laundered blankets over him.

"Leo," Kun said, taking his hand and holding on tight. "Leo..."

"I'm here," Leo murmured, squeezing back and smoothing his hair back. He planted a kiss on Kun's forehead and it was like the loss of Emiliano again.

"Leo," Kun repeated, as he raised an arm to cover his arms, "Leo, I don't know what to do. We lost so many matches and the rojiblancos were out for blood but it wasn't his fault and now...!"

"You need to sleep now," he commanded. He pulled his hand away and Kun gave a pitiful whine, but Leo indulged him soon enough, slipping underneath the blankets to join the other. Kun shifted, throwing an arm and leg over him, and then he was burying his face in the crook of Leo's neck and it was all a lot more than he had been prepared for especially so early in the morning but if Kun needed him...

He reached up, carding his fingers through Kun's hair. It was so damp, no doubt with sweat. As soon as he got some sleep, Leo'd make him shower and call for brunch. Then they would talk. With this plan of action in mind, he let himself enjoy the sudden burst of intimacy. Soon, Kun's breaths had evened out and he rolled off of Leo, turning so that his face was still turned towards him. Leo kept a loose grip on him; the guest room's bed was a king as well so there was little fear of either of them falling off. He ended up falling asleep himself, moments after noticing their breathing had naturally ended up in-sync.

Because Kun's sleeping face was the first thing he saw upon waking up, Leo was certain he was dreaming. But then he reached out to touch him and the events from the morning flooded back. It was real. Kun _had_ come to see him. And even though he had wanted a shoulder to cry on instead of a round of FIFA, still, he had finally crossed the ocean that seemed to exist between Barcelona and Madrid.

Leo slipped out of bed and closed the door behind him, tiptoeing to the kitchen. It was a quarter past eleven which meant he had slept for an additional six hours. There was training in two hours' time but he sent Pep a quick message, letting him know something had come up and he would definitely come the next day. If it had been Rijkaard, Leo would've gotten a call and an earful, but Pep only said _understood_ and then: _let me know if you need anything_.

He called the local bakery which didn't normally do delivery but made an exception because he lived so close and was such a frequent customer. As soon as he had washed up, the doorman brought up three big bags of breads and pastries -- the bread especially was still oven-warm.

Right on cue, Kun gave a great yawn from the guest bedroom and Leo set the bags down on the counter, knocking on the door.

"Kun?" he asked, "Are you awake now?"

"Mm," Kun mumbled. There followed the rustle of sheets. "I'm up."

Leo went back to the counter, grabbing some plastic plates and two bottles of water and stuffed them into the bakery bags before bringing everything into the guest bedroom.

"Morning," he greeted. Kun was seated on the mattress, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked adorable and, from his mussed-up clothes which Leo hadn't given him the opportunity to change out of, just a little debauched. Leo quickly banished such thoughts, setting the food on the nightstand.

"Morning," Kun answered, yawning again before stretching. When he turned back, Leo had unwrapped most of the pastries. When he finished, he turned to look at Kun, who had a soppy expression.

"Breakfast in bed?" Kun asked, giggling, "Well, if you insist."

"Shut up," Leo huffed, handing him a plastic plate and a water bottle, "C'mon eat up, then shower, and then we'll talk."

"Okay, okay," Kun took the proffered items. "Bossy little thing, aren't you?" But he helped himself and Leo couldn't help laughing when Kun's eyes went wide as plates as he took the first bite.

"This is really good!" he exclaimed, spraying crumbs with each syllable.

"God, you're disgusting," Leo grumbled, though he still wanted to kiss him and his tone held nothing but affection. "Close your mouth, chew, swallow. Drink some water. Yes, that's it."

"But you love me," Kun preened, after chugging half the bottle. And then he leaned over and kissed Leo on the cheek and goddamn if this scene wasn't what he had wanted all along -- though it was kind of in the wrong order, but still. "And I love you," he murmured.

"Idiot," Leo muttered, rolling his eyes. He took a bite of his own croissant before darting forward to return the gesture. Kun laughed and they held hands before finishing off what they could. Then he herded Kun into the shower, threw spare clothes after him, and made a rudimentary attempt at cleaning up the bed before throwing his hands up and electing the call housekeeping once Kun left or in the afternoon, whichever came first.

Kun's realism was rubbing off on him; it was the only explanation that the knowledge it was just a temporary spur-of-the-moment visit didn't hurt. Because Leo had wanted this, he had wanted this to be everyday routine for the past year and a half.

He was waiting by the sofa when Kun exited the bathroom. Following brunch and a shower, he looked significantly better; not at all like he had been at five in morning where it was obvious he tossed and turned the night away. Leo grinned and gestured to the spot next to him, which Kun took. He was dressed in the clothes Leo had thrown at him; owing to the slight difference in their sizes, the shirt in particular was just a little tight. Leo forced himself to ignore that and also not think too much about Kun _wearing his clothes_. Because this was not a date. It wasn't even a romantic visit. Kun's hair looked so good wet though.

"So," he cleared his throat and rearranged his legs, "Talk."

He looked expectantly at Kun but the other made as if Leo hadn't said anything, continuing to towel off his hair. Finally, when he deemed it dry enough, he set the towel aside and turned to Leo with a sigh.

"We lost against Valladolid," he started. "1-2."

"That's not so bad," Leo tried.

"Not 6-0 you mean?" Kun asked. Leo must've flinched because Kun turned contrite immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he quickly amended. "It's just -- we've been losing a lot. And I know it happens sometimes."

"It does," Leo reassured him. "But you have to take each loss in stride. Put it behind you." He wished he could take his own advice sometimes. He still had dreams of the semifinal match from the Champion's League.

"But _they_ don't," Kun ground out, eyes flashing.

"They?"

"The people in charge. The directors and the executives," Kun's fists were clenched and his breathing became shallow as he continued, "They put all the blame on Aguirre, which is absurd because it's not like he was out there playing. And now he's been let go and they're bringing someone new and -- " he curled into himself with a cry and Leo was immediately by his side.

"I'm sorry," Leo murmured, stroking his hair anew, "I know how much you liked him. I know how much he did for you."

"I tried Leo, I tried. I went to the director and pled my -- well, his -- case, but...!"

"But what?"

"But they just patted me on the head and told me to concentrate on the game," Kun grit out, leaning so that he was resting fully against Leo. "I'm twenty years old and they still think I'm a kid."

"Kun," Leo heaved a sigh, "It has nothing to do with your age."

Kun sniffled. "It doesn't?"

"No. Executives are like that. They buy and sell us at these ridiculous values but in the end, who is the money for?" Leo shook his head, "Look, it's best not to get tangled up in their world. My dad always told me it wasn't worth it."

"But I couldn't do anything," Kun lamented, "I just -- all those games -- and everyone else thought so too -- and none of _us_ blamed Aguirre and yet...!"

"And yet he still got the boot," Leo finished. Kun flinched at the harshness of the words but eventually nodded.

"It's not just about kicking the ball into the goal."

"But it should be," Kun insisted, sniffling still.

"Yeah," Leo sighed, resting his chin on Kun's head. "But it's not and we have to make do with what it is. I'm sorry about Aguirre, I really am." He had enough sense not to talk about his hopes for Kun to transfer to Barcelona, though it remained at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead, he said: "Who's the new manager?"

"I don't know," Kun admitted. "Aguirre was the one who brought me over. He was the one who insisted on the initial transfer fee, the one who had faith in me. And now he's gone and it feels like a different club and I just...!"

It was extremely tempting to take Kun's side in all this. This was practically God giving him opportunity on a golden platter. But Leo didn't want to play with him in the same club under these circumstances so he heaved a sigh of his own and said what needed to be said. Namely: "I got used to playing with Géri and Cesc. And then it was Ronaldinho and Rijkaard. And who knows, maybe in the future Xavi and Iniesta will leave too. People come and go, Kun."

"Yes, but not like _this_."

"Look at Basile -- "

Kun pulled away from him abruptly, looking at him with fire in his eyes.

" _Don't_ compare the two of them," he warned. The would-be threat broke into another sob at the end.

"I'm sorry," Leo said, and Kun collapsed against him anew. "It wasn't a good comparison. You were right." He sighed, trying to think of the right words to say. He tried to imagine if the situations were reversed and Barcelona was giving Pep the boot in a similarly disgraceful manner. Though Pep had been his manager for less than a year, already, Leo couldn't imagine playing under anyone else -- well, save for D10S himself -- because he just... understood things. Everything was so much smoother with Pep in charge and with Leo's own ascension to #10, Barcelona finally began to feel like _his_ team.

He kissed Kun's forehead again, rubbing circles on his back.

"You have to keep playing," he said, "You have to keep playing so you can prove them wrong."

"What's the use?" Kun asked, "He's gone and it doesn't matter how good I play, they'll not bring him back."

"Because it's like you said," Leo retorted, "Aguirre was the one who chose you. And half the team by the looks of it. So if you play well, even the executives will have to concede Aguirre made the right decision in signing you on."

For a long while, Kun didn't say anything. Then he took a shuddering breath and slowly pulled himself away. He clasped his hands together and exhaled into the space between his thumbs. Then he rubbed at his face.

"You're right," Kun said, and Leo kind of wished he had argued more. Because if Kun were the one to ask -- if Kun had point-blank asked him for a transfer to Barcelona -- Leo would have said yes. He would have moved heaven and earth to make it work. But no, Kun had returned to center with those words alone and was looking at him now with unrestrained affection.

"You're right," Kun repeated, "And it was silly of me, to get so attached to a manager. Aguirre's got a long life ahead of him, I like him to much to condemn him to babysitting us forever." He hugged Leo and kissed his cheek. "What would I do without you?" he added and Leo could have melted in his smile.

He persuaded Kun to stay the day, seeing as how both of them had already said they wouldn't be going to practice, and they ambled through the familiar streets. It was still winter in Europe and Barcelona was no different. Things were a lot livelier in the summer months but at least the crowds were better. And then they were parting ways at the train station and Leo worked up the courage to ask for a Valentines' Day date. Kun said yes, kissed him on the cheek, and then hurried up the stairs to the carriage.

-

Finalizing plans for the date ended up being more trouble than expected. Leo was playing _on_ Valentines' Day and it was an away match (in Sevilla, of all places) while Kun was playing the day after, though that was a home match for him. Factoring in how they had a friendly against France (in Marseille, not Paris) which would be Maradona's debut match as coach of the national team and there seemed to be too much to do.

Kun suggested meeting on the thirteenth or even the twelfth instead. They could swing by Paris after the Marseille match. But Leo was adamant about doing something together on the day of because they had skipped Christmas AND New Year's. He knew he shouldn't ask for too much (and at times, even the slightest deviation from practice and matches seemed like too much) but at the same time, he thought scheduling complications were the least of their worries and at least on Valentines' Day, they wouldn't feel bad for taking time away from their families.

His own feelings hadn't changed since 2005 but he was a lot better at controlling them. Part of it was Pablo's advice during the Olympics of course, where he cautioned Leo to take it slow. Well, they had been... more... well, officially together for nearly half a year and still hadn't gotten to first base which Leo considered to be fantastically slow. But it was cheating and he knew it because they had already been holding hands and kissing cheeks and eating off of each other's plates before -- _this_ \-- so in reality, nothing had moved forward.

It was frustrating, but he initially wanted Kun to make the first move. This was because he was under the impression he had kicked things off by confessing, even though Kun thought the whole "I love you / I love you too" schtick was obvious, but Kun seemed entirely satisfied with the status quo. Which meant Leo would have to push the envelope. He really wished there was someone he could turn to for advice. The usual suspects assumed they had already scored with each other (among them Pablo, Cesc, Géri, Pocho, and God only knew who else) and he really wasn't comfortable revealing how far (or not) they had gone.

Out of desperation, he turned to the one club member who was in a stable married relationship: Éric Abidal. Éric was nearly a decade older than Leo and he was a good head taller. They didn't speak much as their positions on the pitch were far apart and they were naturally quiet people, but again, Leo was desperate. He approached his teammate after their international friendly in Marseille. The end score was 2-0 and he had scored a goal two minutes after Maradona subbed Kun out.

As expected, Éric's advice was extremely traditional.

"You want _my_ advice for a normal and stable relationship?" he repeated, staring at Leo as if he had eaten his own shoe. "Me?"

"Yes."

"Um," Éric swallowed and quickly glanced around them as if he expected Candid Camera reporters to pop out from inside the lockers. "Not that I'm not flattered, because I am, but why me?"

"Because I want a relationship like yours," Leo answered.

"Oh man," Éric sighed, scratching his cheek, "You're gonna make me blush kid. Okay fine, what do you want to know?"

"I'm seeing someone," Leo started, having rehearsed this line many times in front of the mirror, "And I'm really serious. We haven't done anything yet and a good friend told me... well, to take it slow. But I want to show -- them -- that I'm serious. So how do I go about doing that?"

"Hoo boy," the Frenchman rubbed his hands together, heaving another great sigh. "No easy answers here, sorry."

"But how did you do it?"

"Me and Hayet, you mean?"

"Yes."

"That's a story for older folks," Éric disclaimed. "But I mean, with regards to your situation, basically you have to separate the wheat from the chaff," he gestured vaguely with his hands. "You have to ask yourself: is this the one? Is this the girl I can see myself spending the rest of my life with?"

Leo nodded intently, having already asked himself said question a dozen times.

"I'm warning you now, it's not easy," Éric added, "It's not just about staying in when a dozen hot blonds are parked outside your door, it's also waking up at two AM to change diapers and giving back and shoulder massages until you can't feel your hands anymore and always having to open the damn baby food jars," he shook his head and gave a lopsided smile, dazzling Leo with his place as husband and father.

"It's a pain in the ass ninety percent of the time," he continued, "But I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Leo nodded again.

"So a serious relationship is mostly a lot of responsibility. And I know you think being playmaker is responsibility enough but let me tell you, the two things can't be compared. See, if I screw up in a game, it's a game. There's an end. There's a new one tomorrow. Or next week, whatever. Like this match where we just lost?" he gestured behind him, to the pitch, "I'm already over it. We'll kick your South American asses during the real thing. But at home, I know if I fuck up with Hayet or the girls, there is no second change, no upcoming season. That's it, it's over, finito," he raised an eyebrow, "Are you _sure_ you want that?"

"Yes."

Éric smiled at him then. "She's a very lucky girl then," he patted Leo on the shoulder. "Okay... you're Catholic, right? Then you gotta do things by the book, that means asking her father for permission, getting down on one knee with the biggest hunk of rock your salary can buy, and -- " he raised his finger, dropping his voice, "No putting it in before marriage, you hear?"

Leo flushed to the tips of his ears.

"I wasn't even thinking of it!" he lied.

"Good man," Éric patted him on the shoulder. "I try not to be judgmental you know? These days, lots of different things work. But at the same time, tried and true is tried and true for a reason and I think, if you cross that road together, there's a lot more trust. I mean, look at us, flying here and there, I miss dinner every weekend, sometimes more if I'm training with the national team. Basically, Hayet's gotta do her own thing a lot of the time and yeah it's a lot easier keeping in touch these days but it's still not the same."

"I know."

"Yeah. I'm sure you do. This girl, she Argentinian?"

"Yes."

"Gonna bring her here when you get married?"

Leo feared his head would explode. He nodded anyways.

"Hopefully," he squeaked.

"Okay," Éric grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck then. From one sucker who's been in the doghouse to a new arrival, fight the good fight, you hear?"

Leo nodded, thanking him for the advice. Then he slipped out of the French team's locker room and headed back to the Argentinian half. There was a bit of an uproar because they thought he had snuck off; he walked in right as Pablo was loudly declaring Leo wouldn't have gone far without taking Kun with him. Kun was turning beet-red at this point and threw himself on Leo as soon as he saw him. Leo hugged him back and apologized to the rest of the team, Maradona especially. Leo couldn't help noticing however, how their new manager's eyes had narrowed moments after his return.

At that point, he shrugged it off as understandable irritation and even made a mental note to apologize at their next match. Because this was Diego Maradona, the country's savior, his father's idol, and he had just given Leo the #10 jersey, as if his declaration on national television hadn't been proof enough of successorship. It was too early to see what kind of coach he was; he had more or less let the team do their own thing for the whole match, telling them he wanted to see how they all played in a natural setting, but Leo was filled with hope. With Maradona as manager and himself as playmaker, he was sure they'd win that third star.

-

On the subject of their Valentines' Day Date, the compromise had been thus: they'd meet up at 8AM in the train station in Sevilla and walk around the city until noon. Then Leo would send Kun back to the train station and he'd get started preparing for his evening match against Betis.

He had done his research and found a decent walking route along the Guadalquivir. The problem then was threefold: first, Kun's train was two hours late which meant their time together was cut in half; second, the difference between Zurich and Paris was the same as Sevilla and Zurich; and third, as if his plans couldn't be more ruined, it was raining buckets. On Valentines' Day.

So Leo ended up waiting for Kun underneath the scaffolding of the train station, alternating between playing PES and checking his cellphone for train updates. Finally, the 8AM from Madrid pulled into the station and Kun all but barreled out, tackling him in the crowded station and hugging him tight.

"Leo!" he beamed, as if this was what they wanted all along. And Leo had to smile back, because it was Kun; how could he not?

"Kun," Leo answered, quickly pecking him on the cheek. "How was the journey?"

"Awful," Kun made a face, "Half the track was flooded so the train had to be rerouted. Please don't send me back that way." He made a puppy-dog face and Leo wanted to take him seriously and maybe sneak him into the stands for the match. But no, Kun had his own match the following day and from what Kun said, Resino had yet to warm up to him.

"Come on," he said instead, leading the way to the interior of the train station.

"Wait, wait," Kun dug around in his daypack a little, then presented Leo with a crushed paper box. Passengers were streaming all around them as the box was handed off.

Leo opened the box and found the remains of --

"Um?" he asked, tilting the box to Kun.

"Oh God," Kun covered his face with both hands, "Of course they'd get smashed, I'm sorry. They're supposed to be alfajores, my mom sent me the recipe, I know you like them but -- "

Leo laughed, closing the box and tucking it under his arm. "We'll have them after brunch," he announced, "I'm sure I'll love them." Kun grinned and ducked his head, kissing Leo on the cheek, and then they made their way to a tapas place with good reviews that sat on the waterfront and was framed with the region's famously bitter oranges. Most importantly, they could get to it without getting caught in the rain.

They got a table tucked way in the back and ordered a dozen dishes. The good thing about having the date in Spain was that Kun could actually read the menu, though neither of them were big on seafood, which seemed to be Sevilla's thing.

Looking at Kun across the table filled him with a familiar longing. Leo reached over to hold his hand and Kun smiled, twining their fingers.

"It's two weeks 'till six months," Leo blurted out.

"Six months?"

"Our half year anniversary," he clarified. Assuming the end of the Olympics was the official start.

"You've been keeping count?" Kun teased, giving Leo's hand a light squeeze. "I'm touched."

The food arrived like a minute after so they had to break apart. Neither of them had eaten breakfast (since the original plan had been the get breakfast and lunch together) so they were both starving. The Iberian ham was especially tasty with the fresh-baked bread; Kun liked his with a dollop of hot sauce while Leo opted for the sherry. They finished it off with juice from the café's own trees, which Kun needed two packets of sugar to swallow down to which Leo teased him about his childish tastes.

Then they were digging into the crumbled alfajores which were really good, compliments to Mrs. Aguero. Kun grinned from ear-to-ear as Leo inhaled the whole box, though he helped himself to a couple spoonfuls of crumbs.

Leo gave a sigh of contentment as he washed it down with the remaining orange juice before reaching over to hold hands again.

"So," he started, because originally he had planned to have this conversation along the Guadalquivir but as they only had fourty-five minutes until Kun's return train he figured it was now or never.

"So?" Kun prompted. How his eyes managed to shine in such overcast conditions, Leo would never understand.

"So I've been thinking," he lamely started, "About us."

"Yes?"

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and it took some self-control not to scan their surroundings for any members of the press. But this was about them, and it was Valentines' Day to boot, so basically, he told himself he needed to take a deep breath and go for it.

And so he said; "I want you to know I'm serious about this. About us. About being with you. And I know there are a hundred problems and we're going to have to keep out of the limelight for, well, the rest of our lives, but I like you a lot and really want to spend the rest of my life with you." Kun was turning similar levels of red with his reiterated confession but he didn't look displeased so Leo urged himself forward: "Basically, I was thinking we could wait until, um, marriage. And I want us to get married when your contract with Athlético expires. And then you can move over and we can play together and retire and you'll be an English teacher and I'll be a part-time cattle herder and we can adopt nine or ten kids and teach them all football and play as a family."

"Okay," Kun said, as soon as Leo had finished.

Leo looked at him, not quite believing his ears. Or his good luck.

"Okay?" he repeated.

"Yeah, okay," he turned away, cheeks still a dark red, and added, "I haven't been thinking in so much detail, but I've been thinking too, you know? And -- well -- I want this too. I want to play with you until retirement and I want us to live together even after we stop playing football."

Leo sorely wished he hadn't drunk the whole glass of juice. His mouth was suddenly impossibly dry. He opened and closed it, feeling like a fish out of water. He was just so -- _touched_ , really, that Kun had had similar thoughts about their future together.

"Okay," he repeated, flashing a smile, "It's a promise."

Then they left the café after leaving a generous tip and Leo sent Kun to the departing train.

"Happy Valentines' Day," Kun said.

"Happy Valentines' Day," Leo repeated.

Both of them made to kiss the other on the cheek. Leo paused and let Kun go first, then he returned the gesture and they hugged.

"See you on the first!" he shouted as the train pulled away.

"Revenge will be ours!" Kun shouted back, waving as he was jostled into the carriage.

-

He would have never believed it, but Kun was making him into a better loser. Or at least when he was losing to Kun. Athlético did end up winning the rematch on the first of March. Even though between the two of them, Leo had scored first at half an hour in (and indeed, Barcelona first led by two points), Athlético was quick to catch up and even surpass them. Kun scored twice, both times in the second half, and it was his second goal -- in the final minute of the match -- that won the game.

Leo noted how the new manager had fielded Kun the whole time and figured their working relationship couldn't be all bad and was heartened by it. Of course the loss was disappointing, but now that Kun had promised he'd be transferring to Barcelona at the end of his contract, Leo was more excited than angry. Soon, well, in two years' time, they'd be playing for the same club. Kun would look fantastic in blaugrana, though of course he looked best in albiceleste. Mind you, Leo had yet to run their promise by Pep (or whoever was in charge of transfer) but with the way Kun played, he was certain Barcelona would jump to have him, especially now that Samuel was talking of retirement.

After the team debrief, Leo peeled off from the rest of them. He'd run it by Pep, who gave him an appraising look and then a nod of affirmation, and steadily ignored Géri who waggled his eyebrows and shot him a knowing look.

Kun was surprised to see him outside the locker room.

"What?" Leo asked, when the other did a double-take, "Did you think I'd run away?"

"I didn't think you'd be on time, that's for sure," Kun scratched the back of his head and then grinned. "Well, I'm ready. Are you?"

"It's why I'm here, aren't I?"

They snuck out through the back entrance of the stadium, blending in with the fifty thousand strong crowd. Kun led them to the taxi ranks where they got a cab to the city center. The cab driver was a huge fan of course and he said he could die happy -- that his children and grandchildren could die happy -- after Kun autographed his cap and meter. Leo had kept his Newell's hoodie on the whole time, lest they cause a scene.

The city center in Madrid was livelier than Barcelona's. The architecture felt more eclectic and the traffic was certainly louder. Leo wished they could stroll through the streets holding hands but alas, Kun was stopped like three times as they made their way to the Tiffany store. In his home city (or well, the home city of Athlético), Kun was, without a doubt, a superstar. Leo smiled to himself as he waited for Kun to finish shaking hands and accepting congratulations, entertaining himself with thoughts of 2011, where the culés would be mobbing Kun for photos and autographs.

Slowly but surely, they made their way to the Tiffany store. They chose it from Maxi's recommendation. Apparently Mrs. Rodriguez was a huge fan.

Though the jeweler wasn't a big football fan, her son-in-law was; he had come from a long line of rojiblanco supporters and her daughter had just texted her, showing off their family celebrations. After Kun posed with the jeweller for a photograph (to which she attached the message _you'll never guess who walked into the store today!_ ), they got down to business.

Basically, they wanted matching silver rings. Leo planned to wear his as a pendant, so he needed a chain as well, while Kun intended to just slip it on when he wasn't playing.

He would never forget how the jeweler's eyes went wide open at the implications, nor how her hand flew to her mouth as she suppressed a little gasp. But she was professional through and through, recovering in a matter of seconds and smiling genuinely at them. She reassured them they had what they were looking for in stock and led them to the store's ring selection.

Leo wondered if they should have made up a story about getting engaged to twin sisters... or emphasizing the rings were fraternal. Regardless, it didn't seem like the jeweler recognized him so that was one less thing to worry about. It was actually the closest they had come to coming clean about their relationship and he was relieved they weren't, say, thrown out of the store.

Kun had a grand time trying on rings and ended up buying a proper diamond stud for his left ear. As it turned out, he was still using the same cubic zirconian piece the Sergio in the Netherlands had given him.

They found a solid nondescript pair of matching silver rings and Leo bought a silver chain as well. Then they paid for their purchases and thanked the jeweler for her help and she smiled and flushed prettily and wished them every happiness together.

It was half past nine when they exited the store and the streets were a little less crowded. Most people were eating dinner, either in or out, or watching the second match in bars. They were wearing their matching rings and though Leo's was hidden underneath his hoodie, he still felt like there was a beacon shining on them.

It was all the more meaningful then, that Kun reached between them to take his hand. Leo startled at the sudden contact and Kun pressed a finger to his lips, which only made Leo flush harder. But he didn't pull away and Kun didn't let go and like that, they made their way to one of the many steakhouses. It was only when they stepped through the door that Kun pulled his hand away and though Leo knew it was necessary, it didn't stop the sting of regret.

Dinner was lovely and they talked freely about Maradona's start as manager, their dreams for the national team (namely, that glorious third star), and of course, their future together at Barcelona. They splurged on sweet wine and dessert and Kun took a taxi with him to the train station. Then they were parting ways again, to meet in four weeks for more World Cup qualifiers, and kissing and hugging one another goodbye.

As six month anniversaries went, Leo thought, it wasn't bad.

-

Between the jeweler, their teammates, and Kun himself, it was inevitable that the other shoe had to drop at some point. Leo was terrified it would be the press or their families. Or worse still, their families would discover via the press. He kept telling himself he should come clean, before his own parents at least, but there was always so much to do at home, he just kept putting it off. Plus he still needed to ask Kun's parents for permission, like Eric had instructed and which he had wanted to do anyways (because even if Kun insisted theirs was an equal courtship, Leo was still the older one so he felt he needed to go the extra distance), but he kept putting that off too.

Multiple times, he had woken up in a cold sweat because he'd dreamt of it going poorly. Things had been thrown, harsh words had been shouted; in some cases, they were burned right off the family registrar.

Leo knew he was making a bigger deal out of things than they actually were. It was entirely possible, what with how tight their families had grown to be over the years (mildly disconcerting considering the two of _them_ had exchanged like five lines between 2005 and 2007 but their mothers had been regular penpals by the looks of it), that they were already aware to some degree. Plus it wasn't as if either of them were only children and both of their parents had grandchildren. So there wasn't as much pressure to marry a nice girl and settle down, even though it was the unspoken norm.

So when the two of them flew back to Barcelona on the 26th, two days before the home match against Columbia, Leo was still trying to work up the nerve to speak to his parents and then, hopefully immediately after, lest the grapevine take its toll, Kun's parents.

The other shoe, so to speak, came down hard and when it did, Leo was caught like a deer on the train tracks, for how unexpected it was.

Practicing with the national team had taken on a new level of intensity because everyone was determined to impress Maradona. And he was a great manager, coarse and offensive as was his personality, but also ridiculously supportive. The press hadn't been exagerrating when they said he'd drag the team to the finals himself if he could, that was how much he still loved Argentina. And Leo was filled with a renewed desire, to wear the albiceleste and win while doing so, because if the god of football himself could still feel so strongly, even though it had been _decades_ since he'd been in peak condition, who was he, to give anything but his absolute best?

At the beginning, Maradona was especially attentive with him, patting him on the shoulder and joking about having passed the mantle down. But then, whenever Leo would score from one of Kun's passes or vice-versa and they celebrated as they always did, hugging and fist-bumping and cheering at the top of their lungs, he began to notice how Maradona's expression would darken. His eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled. It was the picture of disgust, and Leo didn't know why -- or rather, kept rationalizing it as something else -- until after they had won against Columbia.

It was a satisfying 4-0 victory; he had scored in the first half and Kun had scored in the second. For both their goals, they had high-fived and then hugged, each other and then the rest of the team. It was all standard; he had held off on kissing Kun for three years and counting, he was confident he could keep himself in check for as long as necessary. But Maradona intervened, subbing Kun out as soon as he had scored the fourth and final goal of the match, even though there there was less than twenty minutes remaining.

Were it just that, Leo could have brushed it off. Maybe Maradona was trying to preserve Kun's energy. Maybe he thought Diego needed to experience the end of the match. But it didn't stop there. Maradona was full-on glaring at the two of them when they were celebrating the result with the rest of the team.

He was called aside in the locker room. One of D10S' aides told him to go to the manager's office. Leo was nervous of course, but he had also wanted to speak with him anyways. So he went.

Maradona was given Basile's old office. He'd brought his trophies and jerseys with him and the bureau was now drowned in paraphernalia worth more than the stadium. Seated directly before the only man great himself to call himself _God_ , it was only natural for Leo to feel small and humble. There was an aura about Maradona, something which told him: even if you play a million years and score a million more goals than him, you will never be _better_ than Maradona, when he was at his best. And because he was Argentinian, it was more comforting than frustrating, to know there was a limit, that there existed a peak which could not be surpassed.

"Come in," Maradona told him, swiveling in his chair to face him. "Sit down." He gestured to the armchair before the table. Leo sat down, forcing himself to at least appear calm. The entire team had been betting on who would capitulate first and ask their manager for an autograph; he refused to lose this early in the game.

"How are you?" Maradona asked him, looking Leo in the eye. "Fantastic game, by the way." And in that line, Leo made the fatal error, thinking Maradona was the same sort of manager as Pep.

"Thank you very much," he stammered out, "I'm doing very well, thank you. It's an honor, really." With effort, he refrained from adding 'sir'. Or worse, D10S.

"Good, good," Maradona nodded, stroking his chin. "You're really magical with a ball at your feet," he chuckled, adding, "But I'm sure you've heard that line a million times, eh?"

"No sir," he started, and then flushed at the accidental slip of tongue. "I mean -- yes, but it means a lot more, coming from you. Sir." Leo wanted to kick himself. It was like he was twelve years old again and talking to the director of training at La Masia!

"None of this sir business," Maradona said, tutting, "You're welcome to call me Diego. In fact, go ahead. Say it now."

"Diego," Leo repeated. It sounded absurd on his tongue, especially as Diego had always been Milito or Forlan.

"Good," Maradona smiled. He leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. "Tell me about Barcelona. How are things with the culés?"

"Um," Leo wasn't sure what the other wanted to hear. "It's spring now," he dumbly began, "And there's a lot of music festivals in the streets. The culés... they're as enthusiastic as ever. It's kind of overwhelming, but also flattering." And then, because Maradona continued looking at him expectantly, he added: "I just got the #10 jersey there too. It's an honor, of course." He ducked his head, certain his answer was all sorts of disappointing, but Maradona only chuckled.

"That's good to hear," he smiled, "I didn't hate it, you know? Not as much as the folks here would've wanted. It's a beautiful city and I'm glad you're enjoying yourself there."

"Thank you sir," Leo immediately answered. Maradona raised an eyebrow and he quickly corrected himself: "I mean, Diego. Thank you."

"Alright," Maradona's smile disappeared and he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. The transformation from jolly middle-aged man to hunter was so fast, Leo faltered at the sight of it. He almost didn't catch Maradona's next words, namely: "Now then, I brought you here because I wanted to talk about Sergio."

Sergio. Sergio Aguero. _Kun_.

Leo swallowed, feeling his blood run cold. He fought to maintain calm, quickly reminding himself how many dozens of times he thought he'd be rejected or cast off.

"What about him?" he asked.

"You two are real close I've noticed," Maradona shrugged, as if it wasn't anything unusual. "So now I'm curious. Is that all there is?"

He kind of desperately wished he had some kind of warning that _Maradona_ was going to be asking him this, point-blank. He also would've liked the opportunity to confer with Kun. But then, they had just aired the situation to a nice middle-aged woman who didn't recognize either of them, so he took another chance.

"It's not," he said.

Just like the jeweler in Madrid, Maradona's eyes widened at Leo's nondescript confirmation of their intimate friendship. But for Maradona, there was no softening afterwards, no small gasp nor well-wishes. Rather, his eyes hardened and he curled his upper lip.

"I see," he said, and his tone made Leo flinch. "Dancers, the both of you, eh?"

Leo clenched his fists.

"It's not like that," he lamely tried. He desperately wished he could turn back time, take his words back, play it off like some great joke.

"Is it?" Maradona laughed, low and harsh and _cruel_ and Leo bit down on his tongue. The other was disgusted, plain and simple. Why did he have to share that information? Why had he been so willfully blind? Maradona was from a different generation; of course he'd think their relationship immoral. At the same time, Leo's conscience fought back, arguing the other had hardly lived the most upstanding life and it wasn't like he was in any position to throw stones.

He didn't cry, but he felt light-headed.

"You may go now," Maradona said. Leo stood up jerkily and left. He was conscious enough to close the door behind him, though he remained terrified. Maradona was without equal. His place in Argentina was such that he could murder someone on live television and everyone would swear it was self-defense. If he said something, the press would pick it up in a matter of minutes.

Leo staggered back to the locker room. The rest of the team was back out on the pitch but Kun, at least, was still waiting for him.

His anxiety must've shown on his face because Kun immediately went to him.

"Leo?" Kun asked, getting real close to look him in the eye. "Leo, what's the matter?"

"It's Maradona," Leo answered, taking a shuddering breath while Kun pushed them both to sit on the benches. "He found out about us. Because I told him. Oh God, I'm an idiot Kun, I'm so sorry. And now he hates us, or maybe just me, and I'm so scared he's going to tell the press -- _oh_ ," he clutched his head and curled forward, groaning pitifully, "I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry."

Kun's arms were immediately wrapped around him. "It's not your fault, Leo," he reassured, "You didn't do anything wrong. _We_ didn't do anything wrong."

"What if he tells the press?" Leo demanded, "What if we're dropped from the team?"

Kun's jaw clenched. "He wouldn't," he said.

"How are you so sure of that?"

"Because Maradona wants that third star even more than we do. And he knows you're the only one who can get it for us. So he won't." He spoke with the grim face he wore when speaking of realistic subjects and what he said made sense and Leo should have taken comfort in it. But he was still sick with guilt and dread and _shame_ because this was the reality of things: their relationship would have to be in the shadows. Maybe close friends and family would understand but maybe they wouldn't. It was part and parcel of the struggle and responsibility Éric had warned him about.

But he had said yes. He had told Éric he wanted it. And he still did. So he took a deep breath and collected himself and slowly pulled away from Kun's embrace.

"You're right," he said, scrubbing at his face with his bare hands. "You're right." Maradona was still just a man. And now he was a man who needed them more than they needed him. "We'll get better," he promised, "We'll make it so he has no choice but to field us."

Kun smiled back at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's the spirit," he said, patting Leo on the shoulder.

-

The days between the qualifying matches were incredibly nerve-wracking. Leo hadn't been as on-edge as when Barcelona had won the Champion's League without him and he'd been moping over the breakdown of his friendship with Kun. Kun was a lot calmer than him, probably because he hadn't had Maradona's look of disgust directed so singularly on him, but he played a little more sluggishly than usual. It turned out he wasn't the only one who had been verbally reprimanded by the manager; in the days between, Maradona had one-on-one meetings with Juan, Gabriel, Maxi, Carlos, and Javier. Leo was too terrified to ask what they'd been about but judging by his teammates expressions, which ranged from irritated to furious, they certainly weren't talking about the weather.

The team was in less than stellar condition when the first of April rolled around. They played against Bolivia in Bolivian territory and though there wasn't anyone uniquely dangerous on the opposing side, they somehow lost, 6-1.

It was a huge upset, made all the worse by how Maradona was cussing them out even before the closing whistle. Kun was helpless, benched for the whole game because Leo had made the fatal error of assuming Maradona would value the both of them, and Leo couldn't even look him in the eye -- it was all his fault. He should have never said anything. He should have denied everything and then laughed it off, which was what Kun always did, and look at where they were now!

They returned to Buenos Aires hounded by the press. Of course it was all their fault; Argentina did not lose to Bolivia. Not like that and certainly not when they were being managed by the best of the best. Reporters swarmed about them as soon as they stepped off the bus, asking questions a mile a minute with the familiar background flashes from the cameramen.

The two of them flew back to Madrid with Gabriel and Maxi. Leo didn't dare say anything about the situation, having grown intensely paranoid that their teammates would hate them if he explicitly referenced their relationship, but he sat next to Kun and leaned on his shoulder and stewed incessantly over how he could have handled the situation better. Mostly, he was filled with regret over missing yet another opportunity to tell their parents, and he prayed -- fervently -- that Maradona wouldn't leak anything to the press. It was something that deserved to be done in person, face-to-face, and he had waited so long, he just wanted to do it _right_.

-

Leo was reminded shortly after that God -- the real one -- could be cruel, too.

Three days after he had returned from Argentina, right before the away match against Valladolid, news broke that Diego Maradona had relapsed and was now under round-the-clock intensive care at the José de San Martín, the clinic at UBA. The reports didn't specify what he had relapsed into, whether it was alcohol or drugs or both, but of course his stint in the national team was blamed -- and the quality of players (or lack thereof) was stressed.

Right after they won their match, he received a call from an unknown number. It started with 54 though, meaning it was from Argentina, and he took it, thinking one of his brothers had gotten a new phone or something.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Leo," a voice that should have been familiar rasped on the other end. His blood ran cold and he wanted to hang up. "Leo, it's Diego."

His fingers tightened against the phone. He was dimly aware of needing to lean against the wall for support.

"Aren't you in the hospital?" he asked. He couldn't even make himself say _get well soon_. A month ago and he would have been thrilled just to be on speaking terms with the legend and here he was, wishing they had never met,

Maradona laughed and then started coughing.

"Come see me," he said.

"It's the middle of the season," Leo answered.

"Come see me or else." And with that, the line went dead. Leo felt sick to his stomach. He pulled the phone away and stared at it, then pushed himself off the wall and staggered to Pep's room. Geri intercepted him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him lightly.

"Leo," his childhood friend said, concern written over his features, "You're as pale as a sheet, what the fuck happened?"

Leo wanted to tell Geri everything. He wanted Geri to take his side and curse Maradona and reassure him everything would be alright. But Maradona had made him paranoid and he was suddenly certain Geri didn't know the whole truth, for if he did, he would be just as disgusted.

"Maradona has been hospitalized," he said instead, "We've all been called back," he swallowed, "I think it's serious."

"Shit, man," Geri's face fell into an appropriately sympathetic one because they had been friends for nearly a decade and here Leo was, still doubting him because he was a piece of shit friend and this must've been how Kun felt, at the end, with Emiliano. "I'm sorry," Geri was saying, "You're flying back as soon as possible I'm guessing?"

Leo nodded.

"Okay. I'll tell Pep. You just go."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course. Go, go pack! And tell Kun I said hi, will you?" Leo wanted to flinch at that, but he nodded and said he would even though it was a lie. He didn't tell Kun anything, but he headed back to his apartment and quickly packed an overnight bag before asking his agent to book him the first available flight to Buenos Aires. He arrived in Argentina in the early evening of the fifth, having slept for maybe three hours on the twelve hour flight. He was terrified he was already too late; it was clear as day what Maradona had meant by the _or else_ and if he was really dying and if he was truly morally opposed to their relationship, then what did he have to lose?

The plane touched down and he rushed to the hospital. It was half past ten when he arrived -- and he realized it was the first time he had gone to Argentina without telling his parents. He had no idea where Maradona was, or if he was even awake, but he pulled out his cellphone and dialed the most recent number.

Maradona was awake, at least.

"Hello?" his voice rasped on the other end.

"This is Leo," Leo said, "I'm at the hospital. Where are you?"

Maradona told him his room number and he gave that to the front desk. He had to present his ID to sign in and was told it was only because he was Maradona's declared successor that he got past the throngs of people. Thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, had set up camp outside the hospital, praying in unison so that their god might be saved. Seeing it made Leo sick.

It was no surprise that Maradona was given a private room with a walk-in closet and a goddamn jacuzzi in the bathroom. He was hooked up to so many wires though, he looked more machine than man -- and a very small man indeed, not at all like the brilliant Achilles from thirty years prior. The room was awash with flowers and there was a photo of his daughters by the nightstand, right next to his cellphone.

"Leo," Maradona said. He didn't smile, but he wasn't glaring either. He gestured for Leo to come close and sit. Leo did so again, closing the door behind him and trying not to count the sheer amount of wires that were going in and out of the other man.

"Leo," Maradona repeated. His voice sounded even weaker in person. "Come here, come near."

Leo was suddenly reminded of his grandmother. Of how she had looked in her last days. She often told him she wanted to die in her garden, surrounded by her grandchildren and seated in the shade of the ciebo trees. But she had died in the hospital, in a different hospital, but with the same smell and the same obscene amount of machinery poking and prodding her until she drew her last breath. The difference was Maradona was not yet fifty while his grandmother had been pushing seventy -- and even she had been considered young!

"You remind me of myself," Maradona told him, clutching onto his hand. His skin was papery and Leo thought he could feel the other's pulse, weak and erratic, beating through his veins.

"I don't mean in football," Maradona continued. He shook his head, dredging up a laugh, "We're nothing alike there, you and I. And maybe it's for the best." His grip tightened as he suddenly fell into a coughing fit. Leo startled, overwhelmed with emotions, the most acute being helplessness.

"No," Maradona told him, when he reached for the nurse button, "No, don't call anyone." He let go of Leo's hand and covered his mouth, coughing a bit more.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Forgive a bitter old man his venomous words, will you?"

Again, Leo couldn't believe his ears. Diego Maradona did not apologize; he had, after all, spent his whole life as brash and bold off the pitch as he was on it.

But Maradona wasn't done. He coughed a little more and then continued with: "You remind me of myself. And the two of you remind me of what could have been." He turned to the curtains and seemed to be looking at a point beyond the horizon. Leo was reminded of casual comments, given most often by fans of River Plate, about the golden boy's preferences -- his close and continued friendship with the star striker then. The speculation had reached its peak when they kissed, on the mouth, on national television, following a goal against Brazil.

"I wish I were more like you," Maradona whispered. "Maybe things would have turned out differently."

"It's not too late," Leo said, having finally rediscovering his voice. Some of Kun's suicidal courage must've rubbed off on him, because there was no other reason for him (of all people) to be giving Diego Maradona romantic advice. "You're both single now. And you're still good friends."

But Maradona shook his head, coughing again.

"No," he said. "I have nothing to offer anymore. I am no longer young or beautiful and I do not even have football." To hear the other say such things, even if they were the truth, was painful enough; Leo couldn't imagine speaking the words himself. But what was true for Maradona would be one day true for him. It terrified him, in truth, that there would come a day when he couldn't play football anymore.

Maradona closed his eyes and Leo thought he might have fallen asleep. But then he opened them and added, so soft his words could have been mistaken as a sigh: "Some chances do not come a second time."

Then Maradona waved his hand, effectively dismissing him. Leo stood up and went to the door. He snuck a glance right as he closed it and saw Maradona slumping against the mattress.

After talking with Maradona, he was more certain than ever: the next time he and Kun were back in Argentina, as soon as they had enough time to make the drive, they would go to his parents and then Kun's. No more hiding in plain sight. No more second guessing. Not where their families were concerned. It was with this newfound determination that he boarded the return flight to Madrid.

When he landed, he received the news that Diego Maradona, the god of football, had passed away from medical complications as a result of his relapse. Maradona was five months shy of his fourty-ninth birthday; he had passed away three days before the anniversary of his first Superclásico against River Plate. A day of mourning was declared throughout the nation and the flag was hoisted at half mast.


	17. So we just hold on fast acknowledge the past

Chapter 17  
 **So we just hold on fast acknowledge the past**

It was a huge relief when Leo contacted him, because Kun had been writing and rewriting texts of his own.

 _we need to talk can i come over?_ his message read.

If Kun had read any of his sisters' novels, he would have been nervous. He would have know those were the four most common words used before a breakup. But he was more interested in music than literature -- you could listen to cumbia while dribbling, after all -- so he was just relieved Leo texted him first.

_of course  
come when  
you can :)  
looking forward  
to it_

He immediately berated himself for adding a smilie. Leo was grieving; he was grieving; their whole nation was greeting, and here he was, expressing happiness? Thankfully, Leo didn't seem to take offense, quickly typing back:

_i'll see you tonight :)_

And Kun was relieved again.

Practice flew by. He conceded Leo was right (as usual) with regards to Resino. As soon as Kun had opened up to the possibility of being managed by someone who wasn't Aguirre on Athletico he came to appreciate Resino's style. He hadn't vyed for the position nor did he try to replace Aguirre. Instead, he aimed -- as he said from the get-go -- to continue Aguirre's vision of the team. Though Kun didn't like him as much as Aguirre, they had broken the ice and were warming up to one another, so to speak.

Leo was waiting for him by the front entrance to the dormitories. Kun ran to him, throwing his arms around him. Most of the time, he did so just because he liked hugging Leo, because he liked expressing his affection, but this time, Leo looked like he needed it. Leo, for his part, didn't freeze up or push him away, but he was slower than usual to return the embrace.

"I'm so sorry," Kun murmured as he pulled back. His hands remained on Leo's shoulder and he kept a firm grip, though the other didn't look like he was in danger of toppling over anytime soon.

"Why are you sorry?" Leo asked, frowning.

"He was your idol."

Leo swallowed and looked morose. "He was," he admitted. He licked his lips and then opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and asked in a hushed tone: "Do you think we could go inside?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Kun replied, quickly leading the way. "Not to my room unfortunately, the front desk told the club director last time." He turned left at the elevators and led them to the cafeteria. It being a Tuesday night, other residents were having dinner.

"Do you want anything?" Kun asked, but Leo shook his head. So he led the way to a table in the back, next to the vending machines in case Leo changed his mind.

"I saw him," Leo said, as soon as they sat down.

Kun's eyes widened. "Maradona?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"When? _How_?" He furrowed his brows, frowning, "Was this a dream?"

Leo made a noise that could have been a snort of laughter, had he any humor in his eyes. As it was, it sounded more like a breathless cough. "No," he said, "He called me. Said he wanted to talk to me." He swallowed, balling up his fists, and added: "He threatened -- threatened to tell the media about us if I didn't go."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to apologize," Leo shook his head, "Can you believe that?" He looked up at Kun, searching for something. Then he pursed his lips and looked away. Kun didn't know what to say to that and so kept silent. Thankfully, Leo kept talking: "You remember the rumors about him and Caniggia? Turns out they were true. All of them."

 _That_ Kun had not been expecting.

"You mean...?" he started, not quite capable of voicing the thought.

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "I watched the match on the train ride here. If you're looking for it, it's there," he was flushing slightly and Kun felt a similar flush on his cheeks. It was hard enough believing Maradona could die, but to hear he had experienced similar attractions -- well, Kun needed some time to process the information.

"But then," he started, "Caniggia?"

"I don't know," Leo shook his head, "Maradona wanted it. It sounded like he still did when he talked to me." He swallowed, blinking rapidly. "You know -- before. But I don't know about Caniggia."

"Are you going to tell him?" Kun blurted out.

"Who? Caniggia?" And then when Kun nodded, Leo furrowed his brows. "Do you think I should?" He bit his bottom lip, sighed, and then reached a hand up to sweep his bangs from his face. "I wasn't going to, but now I don't know."

Kun tried to place himself in the other striker's shoes. If it were him and Leo in the time where there was absolutely no support much less tolerance -- if they had been properly star-crossed lovers -- would he have wanted to know? It was difficult to say, especially as both Maradona and Caniggia had been married with children and that, as far as Kun knew, they had had a good relationship with their families (up until the inevitable divorce). The problem though was the Maradona was already dead.

"I don't think you should," he admitted. "Nothing good could come of it."

"Yeah," Leo agreed, giving a sigh of relief. "When he was talking to me, I tried to convince him otherwise. But now I'm not so sure." He shrugged helplessly, "I mean, we don't really know either of them."

"You're right," Kun nodded. "Those were different times. Maybe the kiss didn't mean anything to Caniggia."

Leo frowned but nodded as well. "Maybe."

"But," Kun started, another thought occurring to him.

"But?"

"But if he asks, we -- well, you -- should tell him."

Leo blanched. "Do you think he'll ask?"

"We just established neither of us know him, how am I supposed to know?" Kun grimaced. "I mean, even now, it's not... common, is it?"

"No," Leo shook his head. "It's not." Then he reached over, caring little about the crowded cafeteria, and played with Kun's piercing. "When I kiss you though," he started, "It'll mean something. You can be sure of that." He pulled his hand away quickly enough but Kun still felt as if his ear had been scalded. Leo wasn't so cool as to be able to say lines like that without effort; he figured his own face was a similar shade of red at the moment, judging by how the blood was absolutely rushing through his ears.

"I know," he said at last. And then, "It's the same for me too, you know?" He reached over, giving Leo's hand a quick squeeze before pulling back. He half wanted to look around just to make sure no one was staring at them but figured that would draw even more attention. There weren't any cameras and everyone in the building was an athlete too -- about half a dozen of the residents were even more famous than him -- so basically, it was as private as it was going to get outside of their own rooms.

"I'm sorry," Leo muttered.

"What for?"

"For starting this whole thing in the first place." Leo ducked his head shamefully and Kun wanted to smack the back of his head. "If I had just kept my mouth shut -- "

"Stop that," he commanded, quickly tweaking the other's ear instead. "You did nothing wrong. Yeah, we're going to have to keep out of the press' way, but we did that even before this, didn't we?" He shrugged, "Besides, I never liked the idea of airing private affairs."

Leo laughed harshly. "As if we'll get a choice."

Kun rolled his eyes at that. Leave it to Leo to carry the world on his shoulders, even when there were plenty of people (number one being himself!) who were willing to share the weight. Even when, just maybe, the world didn't need to be carried.

"You know what your problem is, boludo?" he started, "You think everyone's got it out for you. I mean, yeah, it sucks that Maradona disapproved and that _he_ had it out for us, but from what you said, it wasn't even like he couldn't stand it!"

"What are you saying?" Leo demanded.

"I'm saying," Kun ground out, "You, we, us, this," he gestured between them, "It's not us against the world. Did you think to ask what Maradona was meeting with the rest of the team for? What had everyone looking like he fed them mate without the straw?" And then, when Leo didn't answer: "He was telling them about us. He was trying to rile them up, get them to peer pressure us to, I don't know, put an end to it, I guess."

"What."

"Maxi told me as soon as you left. He didn't want you throwing a fit over it."

Leo was holding onto the table edges with a vice grip.

"He told the rest of the team," he carefully repeated, "About us."

"Yes," Kun answered, "But you're missing the most important point: everyone either already knew and/or didn't care. They know us. They know what we're like. They're our fucking friends, Leo, they want us to be happy in the end."

Leo took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing one hand to his temple.

"I'm happy," he reassured Kun, when he opened his eyes, "I'm happy and relieved, believe me, but it's..." he let out a long sigh, "It's just not what I was expecting, okay?"

"I know," Kun reassured him. It was really good Leo had come to see him in person, because he really had no idea how to break the next bit of information over SMS. He leaned over and whispered in Leo's ear: "Also, I took the liberty of telling our parents." He quickly leaned back, anxious to gauge Leo's reaction.

Leo blinked very slowly. Then he turned to look at Kun, really _look_ at him, and Kun had to bite back a cringe at the intensity of the silent cross-examination.

"You what," Leo said.

"I told our parents," Kun repeated.

And then their roles were reversed and Leo was the one giving him an incredulous look. "When? How?" Leo demanded, throwing Kun's questions back at him. "And why didn't you think to _tell me_?"

"Hey, you told Maradona," Kun protested.

"How is that even remotely the same!"

"Well you told me the press might get wind of it from him and I didn't want _them_ to find out from the press so I -- " he looked away, a little embarrassed here, "So I ended up flying back too... in fact, we might've been in Buenos Aires at the same time, since you said you talked to Maradona on the sixth." Leo's expression was livid and there was a noticeable vein bulging above his right eye.

"Anyways," Kun continued, "Apparently it wasn't a surprise and they were kind of expecting it? I mean, my mom was concerned if I was good enough for you and your mom was disappointed you weren't the one telling them but, like," he shrugged, blushing a little, "They're cool with it?"

"Jesus Christ," Leo swore. He heaved another breath, dragged his hands across his face, and then whirled to glare daggers at the vending machine. Kun pursed his lips, uncertain if he needed to intercede on behalf of the poor device. With a ragged motion, Leo turned back to him, breathing out through clenched teeth.

"Jesus Christ," he repeated. Then he looked at Kun, glaring, "I hate you so much sometimes, you know?" And even though he was glaring, Kun knew he was forgiven and he felt a warm rush of affection and relief flood through him.

"I know," Kun answered. Then he dropped his voice, "I love you too."

" _I_ was going to tell them," Leo grated, still grinding his teeth, "I had it all planned out. When we'd go back to Argentina in June, I would visit my parents and then your parents and ask for your hand. We were supposed to do it by the books."

"I was more worried about Maradona leaking it to the press," Kun admitted, scratching his cheek. Then he grinned brightly, "But you can still tell them in person yourself! My mom would love that, I'm sure."

Leo scowled at him. "I hate you so much," he repeated.

And a thought occurred to Kun: "Why is it that you're the one asking for my hand in marriage?"

"Because I'm older than you," Leo snapped.

"But I'm taller than you," he reasonably protested.

Leo looked like he was seconds away from strangling Kun. He stood up and Kun followed. "I just came here to tell you what happened with Maradona," he said. He grudgingly added: "And I wanted to tell you we wouldn't be like... like that."

"I know," Kun nodded. "But thanks for coming anyways. It's always good to see you."

Leo threw him a withering glare but said nothing as Kun followed him out of the cafeteria and back to the front entrance. He asked the lobby for a taxi and then the two of them waited out by the curb.

"Good luck at the Champion's League," Kun said, kissing him on the cheek.

"When you come, we'll win another treble," Leo answered, kissing him back.

"Win the first one, then we'll talk!" Kun called back as Leo slid into the taxi and closed the door. He stood on the side of the street, waving until the lights of the cab disappeared into the evening traffic. He had wanted to send Leo off to the train station, but Leo was right: they needed to maintain a low profile. The rojiblancos were still angry over his "illicit" meeting with Géri; Kun didn't want to think how bad it would be if they found out he had promised to transfer to Barcelona at the end of his contract here.

But. More importantly. They were still on the same wavelength and indeed, still trailing in front or behind each other's footsteps. Kun still couldn't believe that, as he was making his rounds between their families, Leo was in Argentina at the same time. And of course neither of them had thought to run this by the other. It was good Leo wasn't angry at him -- not really, at least -- and even better that they had the blessing of their families.

-

On the last day of Passover, after ten days of mourning, the AFA declared Oscar Ruggeri would be succeeding his former teammate as manager of the national team. Ruggeri's nomination came as a shock, though he had previous experience, his name hadn't even been in the list of candidates. Furthermore, he hadn't managed anything in three years and had never stayed with any one club for long.

There were rumors that he was only intended to be a replacement manager; that there was no way the AFA would let him lead the team to the World Cup. Further rumors abounded that this was all some grand conspiracy orchestrated by Basile and his supporters -- basically throw Ruggeri under the bus and have the AFA come crawling back to him.

Whatever the truth behind the nomination was, Ruggeri's speech upon accepting the position was given in his usual laconic manner. In it, he stressed how he had no ambitions of overtaking Maradona, nor did he presume to know what plans the Golden Boy had had. They played completely different roles and had different personalities so of course their managing styles would be worlds apart. Despite this, they still strove to the same goal: to give Argentina the third star she so rightfully deserved.

Kun watched a recording of the speech as soon as he woke up. He too was surprised with Ruggeri's nomination. Of course he remembered him; it was because of Ruggeri that he debuted with Independiente at all. Though they hadn't spent much time together (indeed, Kun wouldn't be surprised if Ruggeri didn't remember him), he nonetheless got the impression he was a competent manager. Not as flashy as Maradona (but then, no one was as flashy as him) but by the book and hard-as-nails. Maybe he was just what the national team needed.

He turned off his laptop and went about his morning routine. By the end of the day, he had come to terms with it and was even looking forward to working with him again. Maybe Ruggeri would remember him; maybe he wouldn't -- either way, Kun was determined to make a good impression and hopefully get a spot on the starting eleven.

-

Barcelona's hopes of a treble were crushed when they lost in the semifinals of the Champion's League again. Though they had tied against Chelsea at Camp Nou, they lost 2-1; the second goal coming at sixty-seven minutes in as the result of a third awarded penalty. The culés were furious, certain that the referee had shown undue favoritism to the Pensioners, but no amount of screaming or fisticuffs could change the outcome of the match.

The final of the 2009 Champion's League would be a rematch between Chelsea and Manchester United, though they would be fighting it out in Rome instead of Moscow.

Leo was furious; Barcelona's 6-2 win over Real was no consolation, nor was Barcelona's 4-1 triumph over Bilbao in the final of the Copa del Rey. Kun tried to congratulate him on his successful play as a false nine -- Leo deep in the midfield, now _there_ was a novel idea -- but Leo was too busy moping over the loss against Chelsea and the draw against Villarreal to be enthusiastic. Barcelona finished first the league rankings while Athlético came in fourth.

Chelsea beat out United 2-1 in Rome, with Fernando scoring the goal of the match at seventy-seven minutes in. Chelsea went on to claim the Champion's League in what would be known as a historic upset. Kun thought their win should have made Leo felt better, because it was better to lose to first place than second, but it didn't. For Leo, there had only ever been victory or defeat.

At this point in time, there was a bit of a communication breakdown between them, something which Kun knew he was guilty of starting, or at least contributing towards, but he figured: what did it matter if they were on the same page? With this in mind, he discovered Leo wouldn't be flying back with him and the others... mainly because he was already there. In Argentina. Talking to both their parents.

Kun tried to tell himself it was a case of just desserts, and he had to count his blessings, that his parents (his mother, especially) were all smiles when he returned home, but it was a little irritating. Which was probably the point of the exercise, since he had done the same behind Leo's back a month prior.

So of course he had to text Leo. Their exchange was as followed:

 _you little shit  
i seriously  
think my mom  
likes you more  
than me :(_, he wrote.

To which Leo responded: _your mother always had impeccable taste did she tell you she made me alfajores when i visited they were delicious_

And Kun couldn't help asking: _better than mine?_

The obvious answer being: _of course ;)_

Kun was still thinking of an appropriate comeback when Leo sent another text. He was not, as Leo later thought, stewing. So his mother was a better cook; she had two decades of experience on him. Plus the alfajores he had made Leo were smooshed and he didn't have the time to make his own dulce de leche; basically Kun was certain the next time he made them (though maybe he wouldn't bother if Leo could just get them from his mom) they would be tastier.

_thanks for going to tell them in person i'm sorry i didn't do it myself my parents love you to pieces but you already knew that_

_you're very  
welcome ;)  
see i can be  
right too  
sometimes_, Kun wrote back.

 _when will you come to training?_ Leo asked.

 _3rd?_ , Kun answered.

_ok see you then_

As he closed the phone, he was aware he was wearing a huge stupid grin. But he couldn't help it. They had both come clean to their families _and_ Leo said his parents liked him. Well he said they loved him -- which was even better. Because Kun's mother had made it apparent she liked Leo (more than Gaby's current boyfriend, that was for certain) and Kun's father had given his consent. He was more resigned than supportive; Kun definitely got his realistic streak from him, and he basically was relieved they were taking it as slow as humanly possible (to the point where Kun was certain he'd die of frustration before they made their way to the starting line) but more concerned with his firstborn son's happiness than social mores.

Gastón walked by and caught him smiling.

"Close your mouth," he said, rolling his eyes and making a gagging noise, "You're going to have a colony of flies otherwise." Kun was so happy, he actually just got up and hugged his brother.

"Gross," Gastón protested, wriggling out of his embrace as soon as he could, "Oh God, couldn't you go to camp earlier? Between you and Yesica and Gaby, it's a wonder Mauricio and I can still eat!"

"Someday you'll understand," Kun reassured him.

"Never ever," Gastón retorted with all the certainty of an eleven-year-old boy.

-

As promised, Kun arrived at the AFA training facilities on the third after having spent a hectic three days catching up with family. He swore each time he saw Maria she got smarter and prettier, to which Yesica preened and shamelessly said: 'like mother, like daughter'.

Like Maradona, Ruggeri had elected to keep the national team the same, though he said he would be making some changes after their match against Columbia. He too was interested in seeing how they worked without outside involvement.

"I like him," Leo said, when it was the two of them bunking together in the same dormitories. Apparently there were enough rooms for everyone to get a single, but because there was little chance of splitting the two of them up -- even if they never did anything more than talk and play FIFA -- the rest of the team elected to buddy up as well.

"Ruggeri?" Kun asked, taking out his earbuds.

"Yeah. I spoke with him before you arrived. He has big plans for the team."

"Everyone has big plans for the team," Kun answered. He wanted to believe, but the realist in him remembered the rumors about Ruggeri's nomination being a temporary thing. His conscience too, told him not to get attached.

"Yeah, but he's the best I've heard so far," Leo swung over from the top bunk, looking at him, "You played under him at Independiente, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Kun nodded, "Only for like five matches though."

"Still," Leo pressed, "What would you say his style is like?"

Kun mulled over this question for a bit. 2003 was ages ago, though of course he remembered his debut match well. Ruggeri too, as he had previously admitted, had maintained good standing throughout the years and Kun was excited despite himself to have the same manager once more. But he had liked Aguirre and Basile along with Ferraro and Batiste and now he liked Resino; basically the only two managers he hadn't liked were Maradona (and now that he was dead and Leo had given him the context of his cruel treatment, he couldn't really dislike the man; found himself pitying him in all honesty) and Pekerman (who didn't really count as a manager since he hadn't even chosen Kun for the team).

"Well?" Leo prompted, though he pulled himself back up, giving Kun a bit more time to think.

"He's a defender," Kun answered, "A defender through and through. He thinks, because the spotlight is on the attackers, more attention needs to be given to defense. His playstyle isn't flashy and he really doesn't like headers, but he's..." Kun shrugged, unable to really verbalize Ruggeri's style. He settled on -- "Dependable." -- and nodded, though Leo couldn't see him.

"Defense is underrated," Leo answered. "I was a little skeptical when Pep wanted to have me in midfield -- and it sucks that I wasn't able to pull it off against Chelsea -- but now that I've played it, I see how important it is. Basically, if you're at the front, you're dependent on others to get the ball whereas in midfield, it's more about getting the ball where it needs to be."

"You're amazing," Kun said instead, because Leo was. "Taking on a new position like that? I wouldn't be able to do it."

Leo chuckled at that but when Kun pressed him for the joke, he refused to elaborate, only telling Kun to turn off the lights because it was late and they needed to get up early tomorrow. They exchanged their usual good-nights and Kun turned off the lights; he didn't spend much time pondering over Leo's reaction, writing it off as Leo finding humor in inane things.

-

The next day was his twenty-first birthday. Leo was the first to wish him happy birthday, by dint of rooming with him. His family and Athlético teammates had also sent him birthday greetings via text and he spent some time replying to all of them. Then their teammates on the national team were clapping him on the shoulder and smacking his back or tweaking his ear or kissing his cheek; basically just treating him like the kid they insisted he always would be -- twenty-one years old or no.

They spent the morning warming up with exercises and drills and there was a cake with candles for lunch.

After lunch, Kun discovered the reason for Leo's amusement at the end of their conversation the night before: Ruggeri had big plans, not just for the team, but for him. See, the other players had all met with him one-on-one but Kun had come late, having elected to spend some time with his family before the start of the qualifiers. So when Ruggeri asked to speak with him, Kun thought he was going to get the usual "we're going to win that third star or die trying spiel".

Instead, Ruggeri patiently informed him that he had been watching his matches, both with Athlético and the national team, and that he would be moving Kun to the back -- in a defending position.

"Excuse me?" Kun asked, staring slack-jawed at the man across the table.

"You heard me Aguero," Ruggeri answered. He was seated comfortably in his chair -- in Basile's chair, Kun couldn't help thinking of it as -- with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on top of the table.

"You want _me_ to play defence?" Kun repeated. "Defence?"

"Yes," Ruggeri nodded, the picture of seriousness.

"But I'm a forward!" Kun protested, "I'm a striker! I score goals!"

"That's all well and good, and don't think for a second I'm saying you won't be used as a striker."

"So then what," Kun protested, "You want me to play both?"

"In short: yes."

"I can't play defence!" Kun insisted. "I've never done it before! I don't even know how to play it!"

Ruggeri sighed and reached over, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

"You'll learn," he said with a voice left no room for argument.

Kun huffed, knowing a loss when he saw it.

"Christ," he sighed.


	18. As lessons exquisitely crafted

Chapter 18  
 **As lessons exquisitely crafted**

When Ruggeri revealed his plans for Kun Leo had been plenty surprised too. Kun? A defender? When he was so good at being right where Leo needed him to be? When he had played his entire career as a striker? So he had protested as well, citing the years of experience as well as personal preference. But Ruggeri had dismissed his concerns, saying he wanted to speak with Kun first -- with the implication that Leo was not supposed to pass the news on.

So when Kun arrived at the training camp, Leo didn't tell him about it. The more he thought about it though, the more sense Ruggeri's decision made. Like Kun himself knew, anyone who wasn't actively scoring goals was constantly shoved to the sidelines in terms of both attention and appreciation. Just look at Geri for the prime example: benched during the 2008 Champion's League final and only _just_ called up to the national team. Managers too, by and large seemed to be drawn from the forward position, so of course they prioritized scoring goals.

But as Pep had shown him, it was never too late to change things up -- they weren't even twenty-five after all. Plus, terms like forward and defender were, while clearly defined, at the same time certainly more flexible than manager or goalie. He still regretted fumbling as a midfielder during the match against Chelsea. If only he had seen the whole field; if only he had looked to the right and taken note of both Eto'o and Iniesta -- then things might've ended differently.

But the 2009 Champion's League was over and with it, their dreams of a treble. Pep wasn't disheartened though, saying they all had many years to go, and so Leo refocused his efforts on the national team. He didn't dare tell anyone, not even Kun, but in the time since Maradona's passing, he had looked up that (in)famous kiss following the goal against Brazil. He swore the scene was now permanently imprinted in the back of his eyelids. There had been love, a great and possibly even overwhelming love. But that was two decades prior and the world was a different place. One only needed to look at their parents' acceptance of their relationship to see how the times had changed.

Returning to the idea of Kun as a defender though, Leo was really warming up to it. Their team had offensive players aplenty, between Maxi, Carlos, Angel, Gonzalo, and himself. But Kun was the fastest among them even without a ball at his feet and he had amazing stamina. He'd played in every match Athletico had for the past three seasons without so much as a sprain, insofar as Leo could remember. And he was always so happy playing; he never once stumbled or faltered or seemed to get tired of running the length of the pitch. Leo could count a dozen times -- at least -- where the defenders' treatment would have led to a shouting match on his part, but Kun's philosophy continued to be no harm no foul and he kept well away from both fouls and penalties. Plus, because he was a forward, Leo knew Ruggeri could rest a little easier with fouls.

They spoke of Ruggeri's coaching style that night and Leo found himself filled with anticipation as to what Kun's reaction would be. Ruggeri wouldn't keep it from him for long; they only had three days (well, now practically two) before the match against Columbia.

Sure enough, Ruggeri broke the news on Kun's birthday. Leo was waiting for him in the hallway. Kun slammed the door open, looking positively thunderous and deliberately shoved shoulders with him as he stalked out.

Leo ducked his head into the office, where Ruggeri was sitting, completely cool and collected.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Ruggeri raised an eyebrow at the question, "Of course he agreed."

Leo let out a sigh and turned to leave.

"Close the door behind you, please," Ruggeri told him. He did so and then quickly jogged so as to keep up with Kun. Kun was speedwalking down the hallway, making a beeline for their room. He didn't say anything to Leo, didn't even acknowledge his presence, and simply stomped into the bathroom. He slammed that door shut as Leo was closing and locking the front door, and Leo waited for the shuffle of the shower curtain before retreating to the bed.

Kun had said yes, which should have been a relief, but it wasn't like he was given a choice. A manager's word was law, after all.

Leo reclined on the top bunk, listlessly scrolling through places to have a wedding reception. See, he had initially thought he and Kun would have to elope -- sneak off to the registrar and and then gallivant away on a honeymoon -- but their parents (their mothers, especially) would have none of that. Thankfully they didn't want the same pomp and circumstance as Yesica's wedding, but they did want to be there. And they wanted vows. So now Leo was sweating bullets about that because what exactly was he supposed to say to Kun in front of their families? He didn't think FIFA jokes were going to cut it. It was a good thing he had two years to prepare and he really hoped that the end result wouldn't be too embarrassing. Maybe he would ask Rodrigo for help. Leo couldn't remember the particulars about his speech, but he remembered Gabriella's mother crying over it. And now they had four kids and were still all over each other and if that wasn't something to strive for then Leo didn't know what was.

He was still thinking of what to put in his vows (as well as what kind of reception would be modest, discrete, but still meaningful) when Kun exited the bathroom. He was fully dressed though he was still rubbing the water from his hair with a towel.

Kun flopped down on the bottom bunk with more force than usual, which Leo took to mean he was still angry. Seeing as how Kun always gave him his space to stew -- he was ashamed to need it so often -- he wanted to do the same for Kun and so kept quiet. Besides, he didn't think Kun would be very forthcoming about wedding locations at the moment. Okay, and he kind of wanted to surprise him. Unless Kun was already planning something (like the whole sneaking back to Argentina while Leo was doing the same to talk to their parents thing) in which case maybe they should have a chat.

Leo would have been content to continue scrolling through dozens of tropical locations, had Kun not kicked the bottom of his bed.

"You knew." It was an expected accusation but to hear Kun say it stung all the same.

"I did," Leo answered. He supposed he was relieved Kun wasn't trying to keep silent.

"When did he tell you?"

"Right before you arrived."

"And you _agreed_?"

"Hardly," Leo scoffed, "You know I like playing with you at the front."

"Then why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I did. Ruggeri just didn't listen to me. I'm guessing he didn't listen to you either." It was a low blow, but he was getting frustrated as well. Getting a new manager was always rough; they either thought they knew you already or kept second-guessing themselves. Either way, the first couple matches would be a work in progress.

"He didn't," Kun confirmed. He sighed, long and loud, and added: "Why does it have to be me, though?"

"Because you're the best we've got," Leo answered. In his mind, it was as simple as that.

"Liar."

"Hardly."

Kun shifted in the lower bunk. He sighed against and said: "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me why."

Leo laughed, shaking his head. "For someone who spends as much time preening in front of a mirror as you do, you're surprisingly humble. Where do I even begin? I mean, I don't know what Ruggeri saw -- but I see the same potential." Kun didn't say anything, which Leo took as permission to continue. "Think of all the times we've met on opposite sides."

"It wasn't that many times," Kun protested.

"Still," Leo stressed, pressing forward: " _You_ managed to steal the ball from _me_. You've got to understand what kind of achievement that is."

It was Kun's turn to laugh. "Now who's the vain one?" he asked.

"This isn't about being humble," Leo insisted, "It's about being realistic. Ruggeri is big on defense, like you said. He knows that we're good on offense, more than good even, but that our defense is spread too thin. So what does he do? He takes a look at all our forwards and logically picks you."

"Because he thinks I'm not needed," Kun concludes.

"Because he thinks you have the best chance of succeeding," Leo corrected. "It was hard for me too," he admitted. "Moving to midfield was a huge effort and I fucked up bad in our second match. But now that I've had time to think it over, I know Pep was right. I'm better off in midfield; they'll put too many marks on me otherwise."

"But you can still score."

"And so can you." Leo leaned over, suddenly wanting to see what Kun was up to. The other was leaned up against the headboard, scrolling through the songs on his iPod though his earbuds weren't plugged in.

"It's not going to be for every match," Leo stressed, "And when you get back to Athlético, well," he shrugged, "They still need a striker, I'm sure."

Kun turned to look at him. He looked sullen instead of angry, which was an improvement.

"Do you think I can do it?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Leo said, scrunching up his face into the most serious expression he could manage while dangling upside-down. "Gabriel's good, don't get me wrong, but he's a hell of a lot slower than you. And God knows what you can do with a ball at your feet."

Kun laughed. "You look ridiculous," he said. He reached out and tweaked Leo's nose. Leo gave a hiss of alarm, retreating back to his own bunk.

"I mean it though," Leo stressed, rubbing his nose.

"I know. And thanks." Kun sighed and the bed shifted as he moved to stretch himself out. "What you said makes sense and it's not like I have a choice. Plus, it's like, anything for Argentina, you know?"

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah. I'll do it."

-

Two days later and Kun, still wearing the #11 jersey, was revealed as a defender in their match against Columbia. It was Ruggeri's first match as manager of the national team and in the week they'd spent training under him, something had just clicked. They ended up winning 1-0 and the fans at El Monumental went wild. There were definitely some growing pains, seeing as how he was in midfield and Kun was way in the back, but as they looked at each other, first during halftime and then at the end of the match, there was the same unspoken realization on both their faces.

 _This could actually work_.

In their second match against Ecuador, Ruggeri replaced a third of the team, bringing in old faces like Angel, Gonzalo, Javi, and Pocho, as well as an unexpected newcomer in the form of Nicolas. Nicolas had still been playing for Sarsfield then and he hadn't made the cut for either the U20 or the Olympics. It turned out to be a clear case of Pique Syndrome (as Leo had taken to calling it) because he was an excellent defender.

Kun hit it off with him from the get-go, not only because they spent a fair amount of time with Gabriel and Sergio -- who Ruggeri had chosen to replace Mariano -- but because with Nicolas' inclusion, he finally wasn't the youngest one on the team.

Leo still didn't get Kun's obsession with being the youngest; if you asked him, he would have been happy to be a year (or two) younger because it meant he would have more time to play, but he was happy Kun was happy.

Though they played with everything they had, Ecuador had a surprisingly solid team this time around. The difference being: everyone on the Ecuadorian team was playing their usual positions whereas their side still needed a lot of fine tuning. Leo was reminded of Pep's first match with Barcelona and how he had overhauled the whole team before the second match. Ruggeri's style reminded him of Pep a bit, though he wasn't as personable (and made no effort towards it) and was, of course, ninety percent considered with defense. It seemed to him, as far as Ruggeri was concerned, so long as they didn't concede any goals, between himself, Angel, Maxi, Carlos, and so forth... well, someone would eventually score.

Following the 0-0 tie with Ecuador which felt like a loss the team trooped back to Buenos Aires where they played together for another month, training and training and training and training. Though Ruggeri wasn't crazy enough to have everyone playing every position (as apparently certain managers in Europe had made fashionable) at the same time, he was interested in seeing his players outside of their usual element.

And so, on the morning of his twenty-second birthday, Leo woke up to find Kun grinning at him. It was extremely disconcerting and he gave a yelp of surprise. Kun only laughed, leaning over the ladder to kiss his cheek.

"Happy birthday Leo," he said.

"How long have you been there?" Leo demanded.

"Long enough," Kun answered, jumping down and flashing another grin, "And don't think I don't know you do the same!"

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Leo threw his pillow, pushing himself up and clambering down while Kun ducked into the bathroom.

This was going to be their daily life, Leo realized. Where they would fall asleep in the same bed and the one who woke up first would get to stare at the other. The thought didn't make him apprehensive -- just excited. He rolled his eyes thinking about it and kissed Kun on the cheek when he exited the bathroom, just because.

They warmed up together like usual though Ruggeri was having them practice separately. It seemed to Leo that their manager wanted Kun comfortable stealing the ball from every one of their players except him. Either because it was too much of a challenge and not worth the effort or because he figured they had opportunity enough playing against one another outside of official practice. So Leo contented himself to sneak glances on the sidelines while he made an effort to shoot with his right foot. There was a cake with candles at lunchtime accompanied with the happy birthday song and much clapping and whistling when Kun kissed him on the cheek at the end of it.

Leo didn't know how much Ruggeri knew of the nature of their relationship but he was relieved their manager was looking at them with fond exasperation rather than envy or disgust.

-

It couldn't be smooth sailing all around unfortunately and the other shoe dropped at the end of training when they went to see their respective families. It came in the specific form of one darling little sister who had been in the best boarding school in Rosario when Leo and then Kun had dropped by and was only now learning about her older brother's engagement.

"Leo!" Maria Sol exclaimed as soon as he arrived home. She bounded into his arms and he was quick to catch her. "Leo," she repeated, burying her face in his shoulder, "Leo, is it true?"

Leo looked up the driveway and saw his mother with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. He had no idea what to make of it and turned back to Maria Sol.

"Is what true?" he asked.

"That you're going to marry Sergio," she answered.

"Oh," he sighed, reaching around her to stroke her long hair. "Yes it's true." He hadn't realized it would be such a shock for his little sister and he didn't understand why at that point. Which was why, when she suddenly pushed him away and screamed "I hate you!" -- in the middle of the street, in the middle of the day -- and then ran back into the house, Leo more or less fell to the floor in surprise.

His mother came over at least, tutting lightly while pulling him up.

"I don't understand," Leo said, still unable to believe Maria Sol had just said she _hated_ him. Him! Her favorite older brother!

"She's a sixteen year old girl," his mother answered, stroking his face and tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"What does that mean?" Leo demanded.

"It means you should have told her yourself." His mother kissed him on the forehead before pushing him into the house. "Now go."

Leo stumbled forward and made his way upstairs to Maria Sol's room. It used to be that the two of them would share a room while Rodrigo and Matias each had their own room, but now that both their brothers had started families of their own (down and across the street respectively) and he spent nine months a year in Spain, Maria Sol had her pick of any three of the three bedrooms. One room was for studying, another was for the computer, and the third one was for sleeping in. Of course her clothes and stuffed animals were spread out over all three rooms.

He found his sister lying face down on the sofabed in the computer room. She was holding onto a big stuffed penguin that Gabriella and Rodrigo had gotten her from their honeymoon in Ushuaia. The door was open at least, though she didn't look up when Leo knocked on it.

Leo cleared his throat, still bewildered and out of sorts, and gingerly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the sofa.

"Go away," Maria Sol said. Her voice was muffled by the penguin.

"I'm sorry for not telling you first," Leo said. Because now that he thought of it, he would've been devastated if Maria Sol -- like Yesica -- had announced she would marry some guy without telling _him_.

"That's not why I'm angry," she mumbled, still talking to the penguin.

"Then why are you angry?" Leo asked. "Tell me. I'll make it right, I promise."

"No you won't."

"Try me."

Maria Sol pushed herself up and turned to face him, treating Leo with the sight of her tearstreaked face. Then she threw the penguin at him; it was a point blank shot and he was too shocked at the sight of her tears to block much less dodge. The one hard piece of the toy -- its beak -- hit him on the side of his forehead before bouncing to the floor.

"You're crying," he said. He couldn't remember his sister crying in recent memory, which only made the situation that much worse.

"And you're bleeding," she gasped.

Leo touched his forehead. His fingertips came back red.

"But you're crying," he stressed.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Maria Sol said. She looked to be on the verge of tears again and Leo wanted nothing more than to hug her close and tell her everything would be okay -- that he, her older brother, was going to make things right. But instead she flinched away from his touch and scrambled away, leaving him on the sofa. There was the sound of footsteps followed by the opening and closing of the bathroom cabinets, then she was rushing back into the room with bandages and salve.

"Oh God," she said again, "I'm so sorry. Hold still, aahh it's bleeding so much."

Leo say still as a statue, certain he was going to win the award for worst brother of the year, as his little sister fretted over him. In the end, she wiped the blood from his forehead, applied some salve, and stuck a too-large band-aid on top of the wound. When she pulled back, her eyes were dry, though they were still red around the corners.

"Sorry about that," she said again.

"It's nothing," Leo insisted. He hadn't even felt it. He turned instead to more pressing matters. "But why were you crying?"

His sister flushed a dark red and clutched at his hand, "Leo, please don't ask. Just pretend I didn't say anything, I'm an idiot, sorry."

Somehow, it was her frantic apology and how she used the same words he had used that made him understand. Because they had grown up with one another, well, up until he'd been shipped off to Barcelona. But the point still stood: it was understandable they were more like each other than Rodrigo or Matias.

Some of the understanding must have shown on his face because Maria Sol ended up flushing even deeper.

"You mean -- " Leo started, but she quickly moved to cover his mouth.

"No," she said, "Please don't say it. Please."

As soon as she took her hand away, Leo asked: "But when did you last meet him? Five years ago?"

"No!" Maria Sol hotly answered. "It was last year. Or maybe the year before. It doesn't matter," she looked away, blinking quickly, "But I... I watched his matches."

"You watched his matches," Leo repeated.

"They were on the television!" his sister snapped, too embarrassed to be properly defensive.

If Leo hadn't yet won worst brother of the year, he was definitely going to win it now. But he couldn't help himself and just started laughing. Because the situation was so ridiculous and he really hadn't expected it even though Maria Sol was like him through and through so of course she would fall in love the same way as him. He caught himself quickly, forcing himself to calm down, and when it was over, his sister was still there, though she was crossing her arms and looking very sulky indeed.

"Are you done now?" she demanded, "And yes, I know it's all so terribly funny, goodness knows all the girls in school tease me enough for it!"

"Maria," Leo smiled, scooting over so he could properly hug her. "You're only sixteen. There's so much more time for you."

She huffed into his shoulder, though she didn't try to squirm away. "Now you sound like mom and dad," she complained.

"Well they're not wrong," Leo shrugged. Then he pulled away and kissed her on the forehead. "Would it make you feel any better if I told you I used to be in love with Antonella?" he offered.

His sister blinked. Then her eyes went wide.

"Matias' Antonella?" she practically shrieked.

"Yup," Leo scratched his cheek, "It was almost exactly the same as you -- I only ever saw her once a year if that and still, I thought it was love."

"But, but -- " Maria Sol spluttered, "Mom told me you like _boys_!"

"No," Leo shook his head, "I like _Kun_." His sister blushed again at his declaration.

"But then..." she started, furrowing her brows, "With Antonella..."

"I didn't know her enough to truly like her," Leo answered. "Of course I was shocked when Matias announced their engagement, but after the initial shock, I was genuinely happy for the two of them. And, well, look at them now."

Maria Sol frowned. "And you think I'll be like that?" she asked.

"Probably," Leo grinned, "You're my little sister, after all."

"What if I'm not?" she countered, "What if I'm actually in love right now and I'll never fall in love again?" Because at sixteen years old, the intensity and eternity of love was the surest thing for her to believe in.

Leo smiled, stroking her hair.

"I don't know," he answered, "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?"

"But you're really getting married?" Maria Sol pressed. "Like, for certain?"

"Yes," Leo nodded. Then it was his turn to flush as he continued with: "I've already gotten permission from his parents."

Maria Sol gave a squeal of pure delight. "I hate you so much, why didn't you tell me?!" she exclaimed, shaking him by the shoulders, "What did they say? What did _you_ say? What did Sergio say? Tell me everything, tell me everything!"

His mother came up to see what was the fuss and found the two of them talking animatedly on the couch with first aid supplies scattered on the table and a huge band-aid on Leo's head. But they had clearly made up and were thick as thieves once more so she crossed herself and gave thanks at the sight.

-

Judging by the 15 messages Kun sent him the morning after Independence Day, Leo wasn't the only one having sibling trouble.

_hi :)  
hope you're  
having a good  
time with your  
family my mom  
sends her love  
if you have  
the time do  
you think you  
could swing  
by our place  
because little  
brother #1  
wants to talk  
to you_

Leo quickly wrote back _of course i have the time do you want me to come today?_

Kun's response was:  
 _sure  
come today  
but he'll  
be at school  
until the  
afternoon  
we can play  
FIFA till then :)_

The drive from their respective homes, assuming it was door-to-door without any traffic and optimal weather conditions, was three and a half hours. Of course, because Rosario was a big city and Buenos Aires an even bigger city, there was always traffic, which meant, although Leo left the house right after breakfast -- so, nine AM -- it was half past three by the time he arrived at Kun's doorstep. Kun was waiting for him by the entranceway: he ran out right as Leo was parking his car in the driveway.

"Leo!" Kun grinned, hugging him. "How are you? How was the drive? Holy shit, nice car."

"Wanna take it for a spin?" Leo immediately offered.

"Er," Kun flushed, "I haven't really learned how to drive yet."

"What!" Leo looked at him, "But you're twenty-one!"

"I've been busy, okay?" Kun retorted. "What, did your dad fly out to Barcelona just to teach you?"

"Actually Matias and Rodrigo traded off."

"Ah," Kun sighed, "There's the answer. If only Yesica knew how to drive!"

"So what do you guys do when you want to go out?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, there's always mom or dad or Enrique or a taxi if we're really desperate," Kun caught Leo's amused look and crossed his arms, "Shut up, don't say anything."

"I could teach you how to drive," Leo offered.

"Thanks, but I'd like to get to my destination before the ice caps melt," Kun replied.

"What's that supposed to mean."

"It means you were supposed to be here three hours ago, I figured you were taking a bus or something," Kun rolled his eyes, looping an arm about Leo's shoulder and steering him towards the house, "Mom made a huge lunch for you and guess who had to eat it all."

"First, there was a shitton of traffic," Leo started, except then they passed through the front door and were of course greeted by Mrs. Aguero and Leo winced because both his brothers had told him to be extra super duper polite with his future mother-in-law.

"Leo!" Kun's mother greeted. Leo quickly ducked out from underneath Kun's arm and went to hug and kiss the older woman. "Oh my goodness, every time I see you you get more and more skinny! What on earth are you eating in Barcelona?" And then, before Leo could protest -- because he had actually been bulking up! -- she dragged him to the kitchen, "Come, come in, Sergio's just about gobbled everything but I'm sure there's enough left for an empanada or two!"

Leo shot Kun an accusing glance while he was being led to the kitchen table and Kun just grinned and shrugged. They were given a cup of mate to share and then Mrs. Aguero busied herself with the empanadas.

"So where's your niece?" Leo asked, looking around for some sign of the child.

"Oh, the three of them went skiing in Esquel," Kun waved his hand.

"Isn't Maria like... one?"

"Yeah that's what I said too, but apparently it's never too early to start," Kun shrugged, "Oh what the hell, you'd never believe it, but they're actually really good parents. Like, I was impressed."

"Your sister is plenty mature."

"Yeah, but tender and caring?" Kun shuddered, "If I didn't love Maria to pieces, I swear I'd have nightmares!"

Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of Mrs. Aguero's cooking. Leo was in fact starving because there'd been no chance to grab a bite to eat along the way. So when Mrs. Aguero set down three piping hot dishes -- a soup, an empanada, and a whole T-bone steak -- he was never more certain that Kun's mom loved him. And he loved her.

"Wow," Kun remarked, as he sipped the mate and watched Leo _inhale_ the dishes, "It'd be cool if it wasn't so disgusting."

"Mind your manners Sergio," his mother chided, tugging his ear, "You're twice the pig Leo is when you eat!"

"Sure sure," Kun laughed, though he winked at Leo when his mom wasn't looking.

"How is it?" Mrs. Aguero asked, after Leo had eaten a fair amount from every plate.

"It's fantastic," he answered, "I love you."

"Awww," she cooed, patting his cheek, "Isn't he the sweetest? Okay, well, I have to pick your brothers up but Pa should be coming back with the girls soon. If you need any more, help yourself to leftovers in the fridge, you hear?"

Leo nodded, though he doubted he would be able to finish off all three plates.

"And Kun, you know how to use the new microwave?"

"Yes, Mom."

"It's different from the old one, the buttons are all different and there's a knob instead of a keypad."

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay, okay," she looked at the two of them and sighed, theatrically wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "They just grow up so fast!" she exclaimed before dashing out the door.

The two of them looked at one another. There was a beat of silence, then they burst out into laughter. Leo couldn't explain why and he was certain Kun couldn't either, but they were all of a sudden laughing until their sides hurt.

"Hey, hey," he gasped out as the clock chimed for five, "I need to tell you something -- something funny." He paused, thinking of the best way to frame this. "Okay, maybe also serious. But mainly funny."

"Okay okay," Kun answered, dragging himself up from the floor. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his eyes. "Okay," he repeated, seating himself upright, "I'm ready. What's this funny-serious business about?"

"You remember my sister?"

"Of course! Maria Sol, is it?"

"Yup. Turns out she still has a thing for you."

Kun's eyebrows went up. "But we've never even talked to each other!" he protested. "I bet if I saw her walking down the street I wouldn't even recognize her!"

"That's what I told her," Leo reassured him, "But she's convinced it's love. You know how it is at age sixteen."

Kun furrowed his brows. "So... what did you tell her?"

"I told her you're mine and to find someone else of course."

Kun choked on his mate, spitting some of it out and then coughing loudly. He whacked at his chest a couple times and then stared at Leo.

"Did you really?" he asked.

"No, of course not," Leo rolled his eyes, "I'm not that bad, c'mon."

"This coming from the older brother who won't even let his sister score a goal off of him..." Kun muttered.

"Shut up, those are two different things. Anyways, it's not a big deal, I'm sure she'll get over it, but I figured I should tell you."

"Um," Kun blinked, "Why? ...Do you want me to talk to her?"

"No, no," Leo reassured him, "I'm sure she'll come around in her own time. The most important thing is that she knows it's not love."

"I guess," Kun agreed, grimacing and scratching the back of his neck.

"What?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow, "You never had teenage crushes?"

"Not really, no."

"Oh."

There followed another break of silence. Then Kun turned the tables on him, as a question of that sort was practically begging him to do. "You did?" he asked, eyes wide. "Who was it? Was it someone I know?"

"Antonella," Leo answered, figuring it would come out sooner or later.

Kun gave a little gasp of surprise.

"Your sister-in-law?" he asked.

"Yup." Leo pursed his lips together and cursed Kun's propensity for weaseling information out of him. Or maybe his own proclivity to talk whenever Kun was concerned. Thank God he never had this problem during interviews, he supposed.

"I'm so sorry," Kun said.

"What? Why?"

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"No," Leo laughed, "It was just like Maria Sol's crush on you. I didn't know anything about her, I just remembered her as the only girl I regularly saw who wasn't Maria Sol from my childhood and thought that was love." And then, because Kun still looked sad for him, he reversed the questioning: "But you seriously didn't have anyone? Not even like," he thought about it, "A celebrity or something?"

Kun bit his bottom lip. "Okay, well," he started, and Leo cursed his own line of questioning. He really didn't want to know who Kun liked before and was ninety percent certain it would have something to do with Emiliano. "You know where I got my nickname from, right?" he asked, which came from left field.

Leo faltered. "Um," he said, feeling like a jeopardy contestant, "The... cartoon from Japan?" he tried.

"Yup," Kun nodded, "So," he turned away, cheeks coloring, "The main character there was a kid named Kum-Kum and I kept repeating his name when I was playing on the street."

"Okay," Leo nodded, not quite getting the point. "So...?"

" _So_ ," Kun grated, still unable to look Leo in the eye, "Kum Kum had a girlfriend in the show. Chiru-Chiru. And I guess I kind of liked it? I mean, since I thought I was Kum Kum so I figured his girlfriend would be my girlfriend you know?"

And back down to the floor Leo went, laughing until tears came up and he felt like he needed to vomit. It was so cute, so weird, so utterly Aguerian; Kun was crossing his arms and openly pouting throughout his hysterics which only made it funnier.

-

He was still giggling (though he had managed to get himself back in his seat) by the time Mrs. Aguero returned with Gaston and Mauricio in-tow. And then Leo screwed on his interview face in record time because, right, the whole point of this visit -- which Kun had helpfully left out despite having two hours to tell him something about it -- was to have a chat with Mauricio. Kun's older younger brother.

The temperance of the middle child seemed to vary wildly depending on the family. In his own family's case, he felt he was a mixture of his mother and father but altogether closer in terms of personality to Maria Sol than either of his brothers. In Kun's family, where everyone seemed to have the same laissez-faire attitude towards life, it seemed Mauricio, oddly enough, had fallen a bit far from the tree.

And so it was that Leo found himself seated across a coffee table from a kid who couldn't be any older than thirteen who was going to be his brother-in-law.

In terms of looks, Kun and Gaston took after Mrs. Aguero, with their curled locks and dark skin. Mauricio, conversely, seemed neither here nor there. He had Mr. del Castillo's lighter skintone but the sharpness in his eyes was all Mrs. Aguero. He was pretty sturdily built as well, about a kilogram or two short of portly.

So there the three of them were, himself, Kun, and Mauricio, and what did Mauricio say, when they were all assembled?

"Kun." He turned to his older brother with a hard gaze. Despite towering over him and being nine years older, Kun shirked back.

"Rico," he whined -- actually whined!

"Kun," Mauricio said again. He held his gaze as Leo watched the brothers stare at one another. Finally, Kun threw his hands up in defeat.

"Alright, fine," he spat, "But if you do anything to him, I will never talk to you again!" And with that said, he whirled out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Leo stared at the closed door, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He remembered Kun's siblings of course, but couldn't really tell the difference between Gaston and Mauricio back when they had first met. Now that the boys were going through puberty, the differences were becoming more apparent and it was clear to him that, for reasons he was going to have to squeeze out of Kun at a later date, Mauricio had some kind of iron grip on the rest of the family.

Mauricio tapped the table to get his attention. Leo whirled back to him, dredging up a smile.

"Hey," he awkwardly started, "So I heard you play football too?"

"I've been informed you want to fuck my brother," Mauricio answered.

Even though Leo wasn't drinking or eating anything, he choked. First, he had never -- never! -- thought of it like that, and second, this was a twelve, thirteen-year-old kid, holy shit.

Mauricio watched him break into a coughing fit. When Leo finally got ahold of himself, he looked at the preteen who sat across him with his fingertips touching.

"I want to marry him," he said, with great difficulty. Already, his ears felt hot from the kid's accusations, and he knew it was only going to get worse.

He wasn't wrong.

Mauricio narrowed his eyes, in the same way Maradona had narrowed his eyes, and he replied with: "What's the difference? It's not like you can knock him up either way."

Leo drew a sharp breath and then glared at him.

"The 'he' you're referring to is your older brother," he said, still a little riled anyone would speak of Kun, like that, to _him_ , even if it was Kun's little brother.

"Yes," Mauricio nodded, "And it is because he is my older brother that I give a damn who he sleeps around with, you see?"

"We haven't done anything," Leo hissed between his teeth. The indignity of this session was beyond him.

Mauricio raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" he demanded, "Because he won't let you?"

"What? No! It's because," he made a strangling motion here, "Well, we wanted to wait until marriage."

"Like a normal Catholic couple," Mauricio snorted.

"Yes," Leo retorted as his own voice took on a dangerous tone. "Like a normal Catholic couple."

"Except you're not and you never will be."

Leo clenched his fists, fighting to keep calm. He was pretty angry and his emotions were all over the place, especially because he'd been so hungry and tired from the drive and then being with Kun made him laugh (but of course) and now there was this awful conversation with Mauricio and his head hurt thinking how the same parents who raised Kun and Yesica and Gaby could raise a little monster like this. He looked across the table at Mauricio, who had now dropped all facades of politeness. He looked at Leo as one might look at a dead mouse the cat dragged in.

"Why are you so against this?" Leo asked, countering with a question of his own. "You know your parents are okay with it and Kun is too."

"That's because none of them are thinking about the long run."

"And you are?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn't believe he was actually sizing up a twelve-year-old kid, but there it was.

Mauricio raised an eyebrow right back at him.

"Yes," he answered, with an utterly cool calm.

"Tell me about this disasterous future you foresee then," Leo challenged.

"My brother has played football since before I was born," Mauricio answered. "It's all he's ever known. So of course he wouldn't have the time to meet girls; where would he find them? Underneath the bleachers?" he snorted, "But the fact of the matter is, neither of you can play this sport forever and when you have the rest of your lives stretching out before you, do you really think this... this flimsy excuse of a relationship where you only see each other three times a year -- do you think it'll last?"

And there it was, the most realistic question of them all.

Leo swallowed and then forced himself to answer without thinking.

"I don't know," he said, "And I don't know anyone who knows what the future is like."

"Do you have any idea how bad the fights between our parents can get?" Mauricio countered. "If we weren't there, they'd have killed each other long ago."

"So what? You think because we won't have kids we'll get sick of each other?"

"Yes."

Leo fought the urge to roll his eyes. On one hand, Mauricio brought up a fair amount of good points. On the other hand, he was twelve fucking years old. Leo remembered arguing with Maria Sol when she was twelve. It was basically impossible to get a proper dialogue going. He sighed instead and tried to go back to Mauricio's initial accusation.

"You're right that our relationship started off of football," he began, "But it's never been just football for us."

"Right," Mauricio nodded, "Because there's also sex."

"There is no sex," Leo ground out, digging his fingers into the edge of the table, "We haven't even _kissed_ for crying out loud, and on that note, what would your mother say if I told her what sort of things you've been thinking about!"

Mauricio balled his fists up too and glared at him and it was only because Leo had had experience with Maria Sol that he knew what to brace himself for. Because in the matter of seconds, the whole mafioso persona Mauricio had crafted for himself shattered and he scrunched up his face, trying his best (and failing) not to cry.

Leo immediately got up from his chair and went to go comfort the other.

"I really don't like you," Mauricio insisted, making a weak attempt to push him away.

"You're certainly not making it easy for me to like you," Leo replied, holding him close and rubbing circles on his back, "But I do. And do you know why?"

Mauricio shook his head and tried to push Leo away again.

"Because you care for Kun. And it makes me happy, to know that he's got a little brat of a brother who'll look out for him so." Kun was a bit of an airhead at times and he always wanted to think the best of people. Exhibit A being the number of times he should have demanded a penalty from the defenders but instead interpreted their dirty tricks as legitimate play. Unfortunately, Leo's words only made Mauricio cry harder. He made a third attempt to push Leo away. Leo went this time, figuring he had said his part.

He returned to his seat and patiently waited for Mauricio to calm down. As he watched Kun's little brother, he was reminded of himself and how worked up he would get as a child because Rodrigo and Matias were always allowed to do things without him. It was funny, how some things were the same across all families.

At last, Mauricio quietened down to sniffles. He rubbed his eyes furiously and tried his best to glare at Leo.

"Kun likes you way too much," he said, hiccupping at the end. "I don't know what he'd do without you."

"You don't have to worry about that," Leo reassured him, "Because I'm not going anywhere, whether you like it or not." He reached for the stack of tissues tucked into the shelf and handed one to Mauricio like an olive branch. Mauricio took it and blew his nose.

"I'm sorry," the boy said, and even though he had said so many things, Leo knew he was only a kid. A kid who was worried for his beloved older brother. And there was no way Leo could be angry at him for that.

"It's okay," Leo replied, reaching over to ruffle his reddish-blond hair. Even in texture, it was so different from Kun's. "We're going to be family some day, so you can yell at me all you want."

Of course Kun picked this moment to barge in on them. He took one look at his baby brother's face and immediately asked to know what happened. Leo made a face, gesturing for a later discussion, and Mauricio ran over to Kun, throwing his arms around his waist and letting Kun pepper his face with kisses.

-

Afterwards Mr. del Castillo and the girls came back with fresh meats from the butcher. They had a light supper at half past ten and Leo was invited to spend the night. Kun was outraged that Leo had been over without him -- that he had slept in his bedroom the time he visited -- but unfortunately there weren't any rooms with two beds so Leo was given Yesica's old room (which had been converted to the guest room).

"So what happened with Rico?" Kun asked as they were washing up in the bathroom. The bathroom at least had two sinks.

"He was just worried for you," Leo answered.

"He's twelve."

"And you're like mentally five."

"But why was he crying?" Kun pressed, "He doesn't usually cry."

"Eh," Leo shrugged, "Let's just say he cares about you and leave it at that."

"What a fantastic guest you are," Kun grumbled, "You come three hours late -- "

" _Because of heavy traffic_."

"Whatever," Kun waved his toothbrush dismissively as water speckled against the mirror, "And then you steal my mom AND make my little brother cry?"

Leo laughed. "When you put it like that..." he started, grinning.

Kun kissed him on the cheek instead.

"Thanks for coming," he said, "And maybe, I don't know, during the next break, I'll take you up on that driving offer, what do you say?"

Anything which had him spending more time in Kun's company was a good idea.

"Sure thing," Leo said instead, turning his head to kiss Kun back. "And thanks for inviting me. I like your family."

Kun grinned, "I like your family too."

They broke apart and finished washing up and then went into their separate bedrooms. And yeah, Leo was a little disappointed that they weren't rooming together, even though they were in the same house, but at the same time, he didn't want to keep everyone else up with their late-night exchanges. He slept well in the guest room and woke up the next morning to have breakfast with Kun's parents and Gaby, surprisingly enough. Kun was still asleep but Leo wanted to return to his own family as soon as possible. He told Mrs. Aguero to pass on his farewell before getting into the car and driving off.


	19. Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments

Chapter 19  
 **Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments**

The month of August was a hectic one filled with flying and -- get this -- _studying_. Yes, studying. Ruggeri had given him a big black boxed filled with VHS recordings of past matches and Kun was expected to work through them. While taking notes. He asked Leo and Maxi if they were also being put through this indignity, but nope, it was just him.

Part of the issue was he still wasn't big on watching football matches. Yeah, he definitely watched them more frequently than he used to -- especially since he had Leo to look for on the pitch -- but it wasn't like his teammates whose televisions and browsing history and bookshelves were filled with tapes. Kun admitted it was childish and a bit lazy, but he liked meeting an opponent for the first time on the pitch. Getting to know someone through recordings of their past matches seemed (1) useless and (2) boring.

He told Ruggeri as much, hence the additional requirement to take notes. Kun had put it off -- because he was twenty-one years old and goddamn if he needed to do _homework_ to play football! -- for as long as possible but then Ruggeri had actually called him and said, point blank, that Kun would be on the bench until he finished his _homework_ and that threat was enough to kick him into gear. So here he was, all by his lonesome in the family den with a huge stack of old matches in front of him and a half-filled sheet of notes on the table. It was the middle of winter and his loving supportive family had ditched him to go skiing in the south.

Though he was loathe to admit it, Kun understood the point of the exercise. People like Nicolas and Gabriel had played their whole lives as defense so they knew where to be and how to go. He still had a striker's mentality which was to say, he kept asking himself: how do I get the ball into the net rather than how do I get the ball to the other side of the pitch? Also, he could never quite shake off the anxiety that he would end up scoring for the other team because there was a goal, right there, it was just the wrong goal. And Sergio was the one guarding it, right.

Kun managed to sit through three more matches before he threw the notepad across the room with a curse. He'd been at it for the past three days and was still less than halfway done! Plus, his notes were getting less and less coherent -- the last three lines had been a rant about the poor choice of uniforms in the 1990's. He quickly scribbled that bit out, paranoid that Ruggeri would read what he wrote. He really hoped their manager didn't have that much free time but at the same time, knew Ruggeri was disturbingly anal-retentive when the situation called for it.

More than a decade of playing the sport, an uncountable number of losses and disappointments and just moments where he should have played better but didn't (or couldn't) and only now, now that he was forced to watch the game from afar, was he actually getting sick of football.

"It's fine," he told himself, "You're on target to finish." There was a friendly in Moscow against the Russian national team that Leo would be sitting out of because of prior commitments with Barcelona. Kun would be going of course, it wasn't like Athletico had anything then, but he would be stuck on the bench if he didn't finish his fucking _homework_.

He grabbed an apple from the kitchen before heading upstairs, figuring an hour or two away from the back-to-back replays would clear his mind a bit. He got that some players and managers could watch a recording and just _get_ things, but it had never worked like that for him. There were too many little dots moving and he never knew what to concentrate on and really all he could think about when watching other people play was: why isn't there a ball at _my_ feet? He had told Ruggeri this too and had gotten an earful about selfish childish habits.

Kun liked Ruggeri, he really did. If it wasn't for him, he would've never had the chance to debut for Independiente. It was a huge risk, taking on a fifteen year old kid in the big leagues and it wasn't like Ruggeri had sat him down for a long discussion about what playing Primera Division meant. Nope, it was just a glance at the charts and then a once-over and he snapped his fingers and told Kun to get on the field. So he was grateful to him _and_ he was used to his coaching style. But it would be a lie to say he wasn't still a little bit, just a smidge, bitter that everyone else was allowed to retain their usual positions -- except for him. And Ruggeri had told him he wouldn't always be defender but he'd been on defense for the matches against Columbia and Ecuador _and_ all the practice matches before, during, and after to boot!

Would it be the end of the world, if he didn't get to play on the offense ever again where the national team was concerned? Definitely not. And if his being a defender was the price for winning a third star -- he would pay it, he would pay it many times over.

But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't playing his best, whenever Ruggeri put him on defense. He could steal the ball back more often than not and was definitely capable of keeping up with the opposing striker, but he just felt... well, that he could be doing so much more, if he was allowed to play like he usually did. Seeing all those goals during the old games -- why Ruggeri was having him watch them, he had no idea -- was little help. He knew he should've been thinking about how the defenders or goalies could've done better, how the goals could have been prevented, but all that really came to mind was how he would do things differently, if he was the player in the little screen.

He munched on the apple while killing time with some FIFA. Then he threw the core into the trash can and turned to the computer.

Something which he hadn't worked up the courage to tell Leo yet was that he'd been researching too. See, while Leo was concerned with wedding receptions and honeymoon locations, Kun was trying -- and failing -- to familiarize himself with the mechanics of, well, sex. It wasn't easy, especially when his siblings were in the house. Kun still felt incredibly guilty Mauricio had stumbled in on him looking at positions even though Mauricio was more concerned for him. Anyways, after reassuring his overimaginative little brother that they hadn't done anything yet, Kun hadn't been able to progress his... research. But now he was alone in the house and he wanted to take his mind off of old matches and stupid cheaters from Serbia so he figured: what the hell.

The internet, as usual, was equal parts obscene and informative. He really wished he had someone to ask about this stuff, just to weed out the bad advice from the good. Like, there was stuff which was obvious -- use lube, don't use alcohol as lube -- but then stuff which seemed like overkill -- prepping for weeks before penetration, working yourself up with toys, and so forth. Was it really necessary? Would it hurt that much? He was certain he had passed bigger shits, but was it different coming out than going in?

Without really thinking about it, he found he was _taking notes_ on the subject. Kun stared at the scrap of paper wedged beneath the keyboard which was now filled with horrific scribbles and even worse questions. He quickly crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, then remembered his flight out was before the trash collection day and his family would be returning on the day of so basically, there was a chance, however slim, that someone would find the piece of paper. So he dug it out of the trash can and, not knowing what else to do, ripped it into little pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

He really ought to have a talk with Leo about this. Maybe Leo wanted to take it up the ass in which case it would be his problem not Kun's. But it just felt so weird and _wrong_ , especially as they were STILL at the handholding cheek-kissing stage and, if Leo's plans for their relationship held true (and Kun couldn't see any reason they wouldn't), they would continue to be at their current stage until 2011. He gave a great sigh and turned back to the computer screen, typing in another sordid query. After half an hour of perusing what felt like the underside of humanity, he was thoroughly turned off from the idea of sex. Like, how did people do it? It was so weird and gross. He tried imagining his parents or Yesica and Enrique, and he couldn't even get to the point where they got naked.

After that sort of exersion, Kun was _raring_ to go back to watching old matches in the den. He ended up watching until he fell asleep.

By the grace of God, he managed to finish watching all seventy-two hours and thirteen minutes of matches before calling a taxi for the airport. He triumphantly heaved the box of tapes into the trunk next to his suitcase and it was only when the taxi pulled up to the curb of the airport that he remembered _he had left the notes on the coffee table in the den_. He forced a smile up -- it was too late to double back -- and paid the driver. Then he took the box of tapes and his suitcase.

About half the team was already in the airport lobby. Ruggeri was there reading the paper. After Kun greeted his teammates -- who had been placing bets on whether he would go anywhere without Leo, he turned to their manager and shamefully thrust the box of recordings back.

"I finished watching them," he said.

"Did you take notes?" Ruggeri asked.

"I did, but I left them at home." Kun winced; his answer sounded pathetic even to his ears.

"How many pages did you take?" Ruggeri asked, though he took the box of tapes back at least.

"Um," Kun stammered, and then pretended to count his fingers, "Seven, I think?"

"Can you tell me anything about the matches?"

"Um," it was like he was back in middle school again and he had done the homework early but forgotten it at home and now the teacher was making him recite a poem he didn't know at the front of the class. Kun was distinctly aware of the sympathetic glances the rest of the team was giving him; he wondered if this was what Gabriel had felt when Basile was singling him out.

"Well?" Ruggeri pressed.

"They were never any of our matches?" Kun tried, because he had noticed that. It was one of the reasons why they were so boring; he figured Ruggeri would have picked a couple Argentinian matches but nope, it was all about the other teams.

"Yes," Ruggeri nodded, "As you've no doubt read the labels."

Kun gulped. He hadn't.

"Um," he tried again, "There were goals scored in every match?" Okay, that he wasn't too sure about, but he had taken notes about the goals at least.

Ruggeri frowned.

"No," he said, "There weren't. In fact I specifically gave you matches to watch which had a low number of attempted goals and successful shots."

"Oh." Kun bit his lower lip and looked at the ground.

"Never mind," Ruggeri sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "Perhaps I asked for too much." It didn't make Kun feel any better but the rest of the team had arrived in the meantime and they were all staring at the exchange like it was prime-time television. Ruggeri led them to the check-in counter.

"Don't let him get to you," Maxi advised as they were checking in together.

"It's not," Kun reassured him, mustering up a smile. "I get it, I do. He wants us to win and I want us to win. We're on the same page."

Maxi laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "That's the spirit Aguero," he said.

-

When Ruggeri announced he'd be playing striker in the friendly against Russia, Kun didn't know whether he was being punished or rewarded. Or if Ruggeri just didn't want it being public knowledge that he was going to play defense. Either way, returning to his normal position was like coming home. Everything snapped into place and once again he was able to see that brilliant bright light that illuminated the path to the goal. It did feel strange though, wearing Albiceleste and not having Leo by his side, but then he reasoned, if they were still using thirty as a retirement age, then he'd have to play for a year without Leo, just as Leo had played for a year without him.

He scored right at the halfway mark and it was as sweet as it had ever been. Ruggeri clapped him on the shoulder when the match was over and commended him on a job well done and Kun was happy, definitely, but he was a little disappointed they had conceded two goals.

The team trained for a couple more days in Moscow, enjoying what passed for summer in Russia (the easiest comparison being: he could jog in shorts and a t-shirt even in winter back home whereas sweatshirt and sweatpants were a must during the summer months in Moscow and jogging was relegated to indoor facilities during the winter) before he and Maxi headed back to Madrid for the start of the 2009-10 season. It was definitely weird, sitting on a long distance plane ride without Leo for company, but if he was a little quieter than usual, Maxi didn't push him to talk.

As soon as he was back in Madrid, Leo texted him, asking him what he wanted for their upcoming one year anniversary. What Kun really wanted -- what had been niggling away at him since their Valentines' date in fact -- was to talk about the mechanics of sex. But he had no idea how to bring it up and really didn't think SMS was the best way to go about it AND they had two years until it would be an issue.

He ended up responding with  
 _anything :)  
as long as  
you're there_ which seemed more suitable for a ten year anniversary but he clicked send anyways because he couldn't come up with any better responses.

It was only when Kun returned from practice that he saw Leo's reply.

 _are you free the whole day?_ he had asked.

Kun quickly checked his calendar. The twenty-fifth was a Tuesday which meant there was afternoon training. Their first match would be five days later, on a Saturday, so he didn't think Resino would be happy with him skipping out. But at the same time, he knew Leo had a match before and after the twenty-fifth -- Super Copa followed by the Super Cup; such was the blaugrana life -- and yet he was still making time.

 _yes  
i can be  
what do you  
want to do? :)_ he replied back, promising he would spend extra time training on the 24th and 26th to make up for it.

Leo replied immediately.

 _spend the day with you :)_ he had written. And Kun was about to tease him for his sappiness, but he followed it up with: _i want to surprise you so just keep your schedule free_

To which Kun replied: _for you always_. Then he closed the phone and went to bed, trying not to spend too much energy puzzling over what Leo had planned.

-

The twenty-fifth arrived and with it, Leo. At seven AM in the morning, parked outside the dormitory in a bright red Porsche.

"Come on down," he said, when Kun groggily picked up his phone after it had been ringing nonstop for a minute. "I'm right outside."

"Leo," Kun groaned, "What time is it? It's too early." But he was already rolling out of bed and making his way to the bathroom.

"I'll be waiting," Leo said, way too cheerful for the early morning. Kun made a gagging sound and then the connection ended. He peeked out of his window, mainly to affirm the sun was actually up because his room didn't face the entrance so there was no chance of seeing Leo, and woke up as soon as he washed his face with cold water. Then he grinned at his reflection and quickly went about his morning routine. He was out the door in five minutes which was pretty good all things considered, _and_ he had gotten the okay from Resino (paired with knowing looks from the rest of his teammates) for missing the day's practice.

"Leo!" Kun greeted as soon as he saw the other. And then he saw the car and paused in what would have become a hug. "What is _that_?"

Leo grinned, rocking on his heels.

"You like it?" he asked.

"In a... it hurts my eyes but I'm sure I won't care once we're inside it sort of way?" Kun answered. The car was really really red.

"Good," Leo said as he stepped forward and they properly hugged.

"Thanks for coming," Kun said, "And sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's fine," Leo smiled, "I know you're not a morning person. Come on," he turned back to the car and pulled open the passenger door, "Let's grab breakfast."

It was a really nice car. In fact, it was Kun's first time sitting in a Porsche. He had sat in a fair amount of BMW's and Benz's and of course Argentina was filled with Volkswagons and Audis but the Porsche -- or at least this Porsche -- was a step above. Because he had been perusing internet forums, the first thing that came to mind was car sex, which was (1) wrong and (2) horribly inappropriate and (3) he felt really ashamed because Leo had never even moved to kiss him much less feel him up. But it was hard, even though he was in a hell of a lot more control of his body than when he'd been a teenager, still, he wanted to close the distance and at least kiss Leo.

Leo drove them to a nice bakery in the outskirts of the city where they had breakfast. Then he told Kun his plans for the day.

"What," Kun said, because it hadn't been on his mind at all. Clearly, he had his priorities screwed up.

"Well," Leo shrugged, "Since you said no one in your family has the time to teach you and I told you I would some time I figured why not today?"

"Leo," Kun blanched, "You want me to learn how to drive... in _that_?"

"Why not?" Leo tilted his head. "If you pass your test, I was going to buy you one." The _and we could get matching license plates_ was heavily implied.

"Um," Kun thought about it. He did always see himself driving in the near future but he hadn't imagined _Leo_ teaching him. And certainly not on their anniversary. But, well, Leo had already come all this way and he had apparently gotten all the appointments and documents in order so...

"Okay sure," he agreed, "I mean, why not, right?"

"Great," Leo beamed, "Rodrigo and Matias were excellent teachers. You'll be in good hands, I promise."

-

Driving... wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty fun once he got used to the idea of moving a thousand-kilogram object with a tap of a lever. He'd driven golf carts a couple times as well so it wasn't a completely new experience.

However, sitting behind the wheel with Leo in the passenger's seat was a whole new level of torture. See, Leo took backseat (or in this case shotgun) driver to a whole new level.

"A little faster, there's too much space up ahead."

"Second lane from the right -- second lane, NO YOUR OTHER RIGHT!"

"Get ready to gun it, there's a yellow light two blocks over."

"Why are you giving a cow right of way?"

And so on and so forth. Kun was thoroughly amazed Leo had managed to pass his test (as it turned out, he had an international license based off of his Argentinian one) because there was no way in hell Leo would've made it through the psychological evaluation bit. Not when he was determined to bully everyone slower than him right off the road.

Kun found he was an extremely cautious driver, mainly to compensate for Leo's road rage which seemed to span the whole street or highway he happened to be on. It was definitely a new experience, watching Leo curse at the 18-wheeler half a kilometer in front of them for changing lanes without signalling.

-

They settled on an early dinner because Leo needed to drive back to Barcelona for morning practice. Kun was staring at his brand new Spanish driver's license in the restaurant where Leo had made reservations for a private balcony table which faced the west when a thought occurred to him.

"You drove here, didn't you?" he asked.

Leo turned from the exceptionally pretty sunset.

"Yeah."

"When did you start? You were here at seven in the morning."

"Oh, I came the night before."

"What!"

"I stayed in a hotel," Leo shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal.

"Why?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

"We could've at least played some FIFA," Kun sighed. And then, when Leo flushed and turned away, "What? What is it?"

Leo gave him a helpless smile. "It's getting harder -- to be with you, to be without you," his cheeks turned redder as he continued, "I mean, I want to wait. I won't... not before we're married."

And Kun figured now was as good a time as any.

"Actually," he started, awkwardly clearing his throat, "I've been meaning to talk to you. About... that." He made a pathetic limp-wristed gesture with his hand, certain the blood was rushing to his face too. Leo understood and he quickly looked away.

"Here?" he squeaked out, "Now?"

"I don't know," Kun shifted in his seat, playing with his earring, "It's not really something I want to do over text, you know?" When Leo didn't immediately reply, he followed up with: "Um, have you thought about it? Because the wedding and honeymoon are good, they're important, and you're good with planning so you should plan those things, but..." he trailed off.

Thankfully they were interrupted with the arrival of the soups and appetizers. The restaurant specialized in vegan cuisine which meant they had a fighting chance of sticking with their dietary regimes.

"I've thought about it," Leo murmured, after the waiter had left, "But... can we talk about it later? Like, in the car?" At any moment, Kun expected steam to puff out of his ears, that was how red they were.

"Sure thing," Kun readily agreed, still not entirely certain he wanted to talk about it at all. Maybe they should've just kept mum until the wedding night; it would either be hilarious or incredibly romantic, right? He took a sip of the soup and grinned, hoping some of the color had left his cheeks. "So what do you want to talk about then?"

"Tell me about the match against Russia. I watched the recording of course but I didn't think Ruggeri would have you as striker."

"Yeah I was surprised too," Kun admitted. "And he didn't tell me why either. But maybe he didn't want the Russians knowing I play defense? I mean, yeah, it's kind of dumb because it would come out eventually, but that's the only thing I could think of." Like that, they lapsed into talking about football, clearing plate after plate of vegetables and legumes, all cooked and seasoned to perfection. Then they were sharing a really terrible egg and milk-free cheesecake (how they got to call a cheesecake without cheese, Kun had no idea) and staring into each other's eyes and it was like Paris or Sevilla all over again. They held hands and blew out the candle together and in the darkness, Kun really really _really_ wanted to kiss Leo as the devil on his shoulder reassured him God wouldn't see but as Leo had said, they'd put it off for so long, they might as well go the whole nine yards on the abstinence thing. Or maybe he hadn't said it. Whatever.

Leo cleared his throat while Kun buckled his seatbelt. He turned and saw Leo was turned towards him, that his seatbelt wasn't fastened, and that the car key was still in the cupholder.

He hadn't really imagined them having this conversation in the parking lot of a restaurant thirty kilometes outside of Madrid. But then again, he hadn't pictured them having this conversation ever.

"So," Leo started.

"So..." Kun repeated.

"You start."

Kun made a face. "Alright fine," he took a quick breath and then went for it: "So -- when we get married -- " oh God, his face was already heating up, "Are you going to be top or bottom?"

There. He said it. In one breath. Without dying of embarrassment. After a couple moments of silence, he realized he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point in the question. He cracked them open and looked at Leo. Leo looked... not disturbed or offended, but just plain confused.

"What is top or bottom?" he asked.

"Um," Kun patted himself for pen and paper. Alas, he only had his wallet (once again having forgotten his phone). He made an obscene gesture with his fingers. "Um," he said, as Leo blinked questioningly. "This is top," he wiggled his right hand, which had the index finger extended, "And this is bottom," he tilted his left hand, which was curled into an 'o'. And then, because Leo still wasn't getting it, he put his index finger into the 'o'.

"Oh," Leo said, turning red.

Kun quickly pulled his fingers apart.

Judging by Leo's response, it seemed _he_ hadn't been lurking on internet chat forums. He wondered where Leo got his information, or if he was curious at all. Maybe he wasn't. On some level, Kun knew Leo was a guy like him and Leo had probably gone through a hormonal stage too. But he couldn't imagine it, because Leo was so quiet and polite, plus, maybe that treatment he was forced onto before puberty made it less intense? He had no idea.

"Um," he said again, when the silence had dragged on for a whole three minutes. "You know what, nevermind. It was... I was getting ahead of myself. We've still got a lot of time to think about this and we don't really have to, I mean, I'm sure other people wing it on the night of, no problem."

"No," Leo shook his head, "No, it's... it's good to talk about it," he mumbled. All of a sudden, he took Kun's hand and then looked him in the eye. There was a startling intensity in his gaze and his voice trembled with quiet conviction. "It's just, I don't know very much about it. I've never... you know."

"Neither have I," Kun blurted out. He thought that much was obvious. "But I've... well... on the internet, there's stuff. A lot of stuff about that."

"For guys?"

"Yeah," Kun nodded, "But, like, a lot of it is stupid and I'm not sure I would take any of the advice that sounds real." He made another face, even as he instinctively squeezed Leo's hand, "I don't know. I guess I read a lot of horror stories and got a bit spooked. Sorry for freaking you out too."

"Don't be," Leo reassured him, squeezing his hand in return. He ran his thumb in circles over Kun's knuckles and Kun shivered at the additional contact. "The internet, huh?" Leo continued as he gave a wry smile.

"Don't laugh," Kun protested, looking away with a huff, "I don't exactly have anyone else to ask."

"It really never occurred to me," Leo admitted.

"Because you never think about it?" Kun guessed.

Leo blinked and stared at him with proper bewilderment. "You think I never think about it?" he asked.

"Um," Kun gave an awkward smile, "It doesn't seem like you do?"

Leo pulled his hand away so he could cover his mouth as he laughed. It was a harsh sound and he shook his head humorlessly at the end of it.

"I do," he answered, with a voice so low Kun shivered. "I think about it all the time. It was distracting as hell back in the day."

"Back in day?"

"When I wasn't sure you liked me back."

"Except I've always liked you back," Kun corrected.

"But I didn't always know." Leo scrubbed his face with his palms, sweeping his bangs back. Then he turned to Kun again, taking his hand. "I love you so much I hurt. Even when we're together, I feel we're not close enough, you know?"

Kun smiled and squeezed his hand again.

"I know," he said.

Leo leaned forward. Kun did the same. Their faces were so close, Kun was certain he could've counted Leo's eyelashes, had the lighting been better.

"If -- " Leo started, licking his lips.

"If?" Kun repeated, not quite willing to believe.

"If you wanted me to kiss you, I could kiss you now." Leo offered.

Kun swallowed. He felt his pulse flutter, right beneath his jaw.

"I want you to kiss me now," he said. Then he closed his eyes and heard another sharp intake of breath from Leo. And then he felt -- because his eyes were still closed -- Leo moving close. He could feel Leo's breath against his skin and the proximity alone just felt so... intimate. After what felt like an eternity, Leo finally closed the distance --

Only to plant a kiss on Kun's cheek.

Kun snapped his eyes open. Leo must've felt the shock and disappointment that rolled off him in waves because he leaned in closer and threw his arms around Kun. It was an uncomfortable position, to say the least, since there was the break and stick-shift between them.

"Sorry," Leo mumbled against his shoulder. "I want to, I really do. But we've waited this long and I just -- I want it to matter. I want it to be _perfect_."

Kun hugged him back, ignoring how the glove compartment was digging into his side.

"It's okay, boludo," he reassured the other. He kissed Leo's cheek too. "I don't really get what you mean by perfect, but I'm fine with waiting." He broke away to grin at Leo. "Two more years, right?"

Leo nodded. "Two more years."

With that conversation over, Leo put his key in and turned on the ignition. The Porsche came to life beneath their feet. They plugged Kun's iPod into the car -- because that was an option in the newer models -- and sang along to cumbia. Leo was supposed to have left at seven; it was half past eight when they reached Kun's dorm. Then he was pulling his iPod out from the dock and insisting Leo stay in the car because he had a five hour drive ahead of him (Leo insisted he could do it in four, what with the motorways being less congested after midnight). They hugged and kissed with the stick shift between them yet again.

"Happy anniversary," Kun said, "And thanks for forcing me through that driver's license."

"You're very welcome," Leo preened, then he leaned over to tug on Kun's piercing. "Let me know when you've got a parking spot sorted out. Then I'll send over a car."

"With a matching license plate?" Kun teased.

"With a matching license plate."

"Okay," he smiled and squeezed Leo's hand, extricating himself from the car. "Drive safely!"

"I always do," Leo rolled his eyes.

Kun closed the door and Leo rolled the window down. They stared at one another from a span of two, maybe three meters. Kun fought back the urge to cry. It had been a wonderful day; he had had a wonderful time; it just always hurt to say good-bye.

"Good night," Leo said at last.

"Night," Kun answered. Then Leo rolled up the window and Kun watched as the car pulled out of the parking lot and slowly made its way onto the near-empty street. He watched, as he always did, until he couldn't see the taillights anymore. Then he went back into the dorm, where it wasn't even nine PM yet, and took the elevator back to his room. He flopped down on the bed, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of emotions Leo always seemed to make him feel, and fell asleep within the hour.

-

The start of the season came and went and soon enough, they were meeting up for another international break in Argentina. The continuation of the World Cup qualifications. Kun, who was pretty confident in his ability to reset timezones in twenty-four hours, arrived the day before. He was disappointed with his performance in the first round and wanted some extra training with the rest of the team, Jurado and Reyes in particular. Leo, on the other hand, had been benched for the first match of the season and was thus able to fly out a week before and train up with the national team.

Then they were playing against Brazil at El Monumental and Ruggeri had him playing defense again. It turned out to be a wise decision as marking Kaka really made a difference. Despite having limited the Brazilian side's options, they were still lagging 1-2 up until the middle of the second half where Leo scored a goal that would have made Maradona proud, dribbling past three defenders before making a curved shot that bounced off the goalpost and into the goal. Normal draws weren't as satisfying, but this was a draw against Brazil, Brazil, who despite lacking Ronaldinho and Ronaldo, still fielded giants like Kaka, Elano, and Dani. Brazil, who was leading the tables and boasted the highest difference in goals scored for versus against.

Although Ruggeri kept having him train as a defender, Kun was nonetheless fielded as a striker in the following match against Paraguay. He wondered if Ruggeri paid attention to the media speculation -- people either sympathetic to Basile or straight-up in his camp were flooding the papers saying the team was on the verge of ousting their current coach and his wild team arrangements were endemic to the problem -- or if Ruggeri worried he would forget how to play as a striker. Regardless, he played with Leo against Paraguay and he ended up scoring a header (courtesy of an assist from Leo) in the eightieth minute. It wasn't necessary, since the score was already 2-1, but a goal was still a goal. They were playing in Asuncion so there weren't many Argentinian fans, but it still felt good, knowing that they were no longer stuck with the same tie as the previous year.

Both he and Leo had club matches -- along with what must have been half the team -- the weekend of. In their case, it meant they flew back -- with the usual suspects of Maxi and Gabriel, along with Ezequiel, Pablo, and Gonzalo. _That_ journey had been properly exhausting: he was giving everything he had and still, they could only play Santander to a 1-1 tie come Saturday.

Exactly a week after that was a match-up between their clubs. Barcelona versus Athletico at Camp Nou. The blaugranas won 5-2, thus exacting revenge for their loss in March, and the rojiblancos swore just desserts in the match-up the next year. It was thrilling as ever to play against Leo, and though Leo was at the top of his game this time, Kun had to take his victories where he could get them, namely in stealing the ball away from Leo when they were going head-to-head on the pitch. He felt Guardiola's gaze on him every now and then but didn't know what to make of it. And then the game was over, the match was set, and the teams were lining up to shake hands and exchange jerseys.

A little less than a month later and they were back in Argentina for the last pair of qualifying matches. Ruggeri had him playing defender the whole time: during practice and during the real matches. It was blood and sweat and tears and like Ruggeri (and Gabriel, and Nicolas) had warned him, there wasn't any glory associated with it, but when they beat Peru _and_ Uruguay without conceding any goals, Kun felt it was all worth it. He didn't need the glory, so long as they _won_.

Because of the changes in their team line-up and the sheer amount of new blood Ruggeri had no qualms with mixing in, Argentina ended up tied with Chile (always Chile!) for first place at 33 points. Second place was Brazil at 32 points with an unheard of 20 goal difference between for and against and third place was Paraguay with 30 points.

Kun remembered dashing across the pitch and barreling into Leo as soon as the end of the match was called.

Their teammates ran over, piling on top of them, and they were a screaming shouting shrieking mass of limbs for a while.

 _We're going to the World Cup, we're going to the World Cup, we're going to the World Cup_ \-- Kun was grinning so wide he felt his face would split and even if it did, it didn't matter because -- they had made it. They qualified. They had dragged themselves out of fifth place and infamy and clawed their way to a tied first. He crossed himself and thanked God right as Ruggeri intervened, parting the lot of them like a schoolteacher during a playground fight and telling them to line up and act professional. Ruggeri was smiling too though, so Kun could tell he didn't really mean it.

He knew there was a long way to go and that most of it would be a teeth-gritting slog through the mud. But in that moment, it didn't matter, even if God himself appeared and told him they had no chance of winning the thing, because they had gotten through the door. Because, together and with the rest of the team, they had proved it was possible. That the new blood could take on the mantle from the old guard.

And what was possible once, would be possible a second time.

_They were going to World Cup._


	20. (That play the music of life)

Chapter 20  
 **(That play the music of life)**

If the reporters at the Daily Mail could see him now, Gerard was sure they would have a field day. He'd get the front page for sure, and maybe a double-sided spread on page five. There would be commentary from random passerby, most of whom would be supporters of the Red Devils so he would be a twice-cursed son of a bitch in their eyes. And all because he had offered to coach a friend of a friend!

The context was thus: on the fourteenth of November, during a sunny but blustery Sunday, the national teams for Spain and Argentina had met up for a friendly match. At the Vicente Calderon, AKA the home playing field of the rojiblancos. Gerard was there of course, along with Cesc and what felt like half the starting squad at Barcelona. It came as a surprise then, that Leo was starting but Kun was not.

They hadn't talked about team formations on the way over, mostly because Cesc (who had flown from London to Barcelona to commute with them up to Madrid) was still crowing over their UEFA victory (the one Gerard had no part in). Cesc was also, in his usual braggadocious way, certain Spain would be Argentina. Leo, who was the only Argentinian in their car, had either nodded off or was convincingly faking it. Either way he didn't join in on their trash talking.

It wasn't a big deal, Gerard told himself as he concentrated on his mark, Carlos Tevez. They knew each other from United, and they'd met a couple times on opposite sides, but it was a first time he'd been set to mark him. He knew Carlos had transferred to City but they weren't so close that they could make small talk during half time.

The match progressed like Cesc expected it would: although Leo was as terrifying as ever with a ball at his feet, the Argentinian team just wasn't as cohesive. Gerard had heard the news of the new manager -- Ruggeri -- cobbling together what seemed like an entirely new team following his nomination; there was a lot of outrage in the Argentinian papers with his risky replacement of tried-and-true with faceless freshmen. The match was, as del Bosque said afterwards, eleven good players up against a team.

Xabi scored at 16 minutes and the score was tied for a nail-biting twenty minutes in the second half courtesy of a successful penalty shot Leo made, until Xabi scored -- again -- in the 86th minute. The match ended 2-1 and though Gerard was happy, to be playing and winning with the national team and to be playing and winning against _Leo_ , he couldn't shake the second-hand outrage that stemmed from Kun being on the bench for the whole of match, while they played at his home stadium.

Cesc was thinking the same thing.

"Maybe the new manager doesn't like him," was his best guess. They were changing back into traveling attire in the Athletico locker rooms. "It happens."

"They seemed to get along though," Gerard protested, "I mean, they sat next to each other on the bench."

"Yeah," Cesc shrugged, "It is weird. You'd figure Leo would've said something." He turned to Gerard and raised his eyebrow. "You're not going to go snooping around, are you?"

Gerard laughed, "This isn't the X-Files," he answered. "I'm just a little disappointed that I didn't get to play against Kun."

"Didn't you guys _just_ beat Athletico?"

"Yeah but that was two months ago!"

Cesc laughed too and slapped him on the back, "If only we had some schmuck from La Marsa here. They'd probably have a heart attack, seeing good little Pique come out as such a sadist."

"In the locker room? Seriously?"

"Hey, you never know." Cesc attempted to look conspiratorical but could only pull off amused. "Maybe there's little rice-sized cameras right here."

"Definitely too much TV," Gerard rolled his eyes. "But if there were any cameras here, I'd go to their head office and wring the responsible party's pasty little neck myself." He was still pissed-off at the PR nightmare that was him "illicitly" meeting Kun at the Athletico dormitories. There wasn't even a rivalry between Athletico and Barcelona and yet both their fans (and more importantly, club directors) had gotten so worked up. It was ridiculous.

"Ooh dangerous," Cesc teased, "Like a hibernating bear."

Gerard ignored him, focusing on tying his shoes while thinking of the best way to approach someone who would know something about the situation. Leo was the obvious choice but he was as talktative as a clam following a loss, childhood friend or no. Plus, Gerard was still a bit psyched over beating him so he didn't think he could wipe the smugness from his face entirely. Yeah, Leo would probably be bitter and prickly for at least the ride back, so talking to him was out of the question. He _could_ talk to Kun about it but (1) he figured Kun would be with Leo and (2) he didn't want to give more fuel to the press.

Going straight to Ruggeri seemed like a certain route to suicide; the guy's poker face was insane. It didn't matter whether the Argentinian team was winning big or losing hard, Gerard had never seen the muscles on his face move more than a couple millimeters. And he didn't think spilling team formation rational to a defender on the opposite team was going to go over well.

"Just give it up," Cesc told him, "It's probably a one-off thing. And if it's not," he shrugged, "It's all the better for us, isn't it?"

Gerard knew Cesc was right. It was no skin off his back if Ruggeri wanted to keep Kun on the bench. At the end of the day, their national teams were aiming for the same prize -- the only difference being Argentina had won it twice while Spain had yet to win it at all. It was a sore spot for them, despite having won the Euro last year, because if La Liga was, as they insisted, the best league of them all, how was it France, England, Germany, and Italy had multiple World Cups under their belt?

But at the same time, if he were the kind of person who was satisfied with the status quo and taking the easy way out, he would have never bothered befriending Leo in the first place. Now _that_ had been a teeth-grinding experience. Cesc had been perplexed as well. In his words: the kid just wants to be left alone so leave him the hell alone and let him fuck off back to Argentina! The difference between the Leo of 2001 and the present-day Leo was like night and day but even way back when, Gerard had seen how he could play. It wasn't about recruiting him for the Spanish national team or even about playing with him in the future at Barcelona. He wasn't the type to think _that_ far into the future. It was entirely because here was a kid who played fantastic football who was clearly lonely and alone thousands of kilometers away from home and if he could help, he would.

Cesc often teased him for having a soft heart, as if he didn't meddle just as much when he felt the need, and maybe he was right there too. But something didn't sit right with Gerard, seeing one of the most talented strikers of their generation stuck on the bench like that, and he was determined to do something about it. 

Like it had been with Leo, his meddling wasn't hinged on Kun's relationship with Leo or because of the rumors Athletico was going to grant him Spanish citizenry or even because Kun was coming to Barcelona in two years' time (so it was kind of like an investment in the club's future). It was just because Kun played a mean game of football and Gerard wanted to meet him head-on, on the pitch.

He decided then, that Gabriel (the one with Madrid, because _their_ Gabriel was in Argentina for his grandmother's funeral) -- another defender from his ManU days that was now playing for Real -- would be his best shot of getting some answers. They had been good friends back in Manchester, Spanish-speaking nationals banding together and what have you, and he figured even with the Clásico bouts, they were still on good terms. So he ignored Cesc' disparaging "it's a waste of time and energy to get involved" and stalked off to the Argentinian locker rooms where he discovered Gabriel had already left to give his folks a tour of the city. Neither Leo nor Kun were there and he tried to think of anyone else he might know and came up blank.

Well, save for Carlos.

If he was anything like Gerard remembered (and judging by his playstyle, he was very much so the same person), he probably took losing just as poorly as Leo. But the Argentinians still in the locker room told him he was still in the stadium -- specifically with Pocho and Gonzalo in the cafeteria -- which meant Gerard had a nonzero chance of getting some answers. So off he went to the cafeteria where sure enough, there was Carlos, sharing a meal at a corner table with two other players.

"Hey," he greeted, walking right up to their table.

The three of them turned to look at him.

"Hey, Pique," Carlos stood up, clapping him on the shoulder, "Good game, man."

"Thanks," Gerard couldn't help grinning, "You're as slippery to catch as ever, old man." He turned to Pocho and Gonzalo, flashing what he hoped was an apologetic smile, "Hey, sorry about this, but I was wondering if I could borrow Carlos for a second? Just wanted to catch up."

Carlos' eyebrows shot way up and Pocho and Gonzalo exchanged blank glances.

"Um," said the shorter one.

"Yeah, sure?" the taller one finished.

"Man you are way too formal," Carlos snickered, even as he followed Gerard out into the hallway. The chatter from the three dozen or so players that were grabbing a post-match meal faded to a buzz as soon as they went through the double doors.

"So," Carlos started, turning to him with an eyebrow raised, "What's this about?"

"Er," Gerard started. He always felt a little awkward talking to older players, even though the other was barely three years older. "So I couldn't help noticing Kun was on the bench the whole time and I was wondering what was up with that."

Carlos raised his eyebrow even higher.

"Aren't you best friends with Leo?" he asked. "Couldn't you have asked him?"

"He's not exactly in a good mood after a loss."

"And you think I am?"

"Well at least you're willing to talk to me," Gerard argued, "And I can't even find him."

"Probably snuck off with Aguero," Carlos rolled his eyes. And then, to steer the conversation back on track, he asked: "You haven't watched any of the qualifying matches, have you?"

"The South American ones?"

"Yeah."

"Uh. No." He'd been kind of pre-occupied training with the national team and then friendlies with Barcelona.

"Well watch a few. The latest ones, but not the one against Paraguay. Then you'll have your answer." And with that said, Carlos gave him a little wave before heading back into the cafeteria. Gerard went back to the Spanish locker rooms, where Cesc and the rest of the team were waiting for him. Surprise surprise, Leo had decided to head back to Barcelona at a later date, which meant there was no chance Gerard would get answers out of him on the ride back.

"Any luck?" Cesc asked as they were shuffling into their various cars.

"Carlos told me to watch their latest matches. But not the one against Paraguay."

"Huh," Cesc said. "Well, guess you've got homework."

-

Let it never be said he was easily distracted: as soon as he was back in his apartment in Barcelona, he turned on his computer and started looking for recordings of the South American World Cup Qualification matches. It was a lot easier than looking for old German or British matches, since everything was in Spanish, but unfortunately he couldn't access whole matches, only clips. Still, the fifteen minutes he was allowed to see of the match against Peru said it all.

Gerard couldn't believe his eyes. He had to refresh the screen and double-check it was an official international match before he could be certain he was watching Sergio "Kun" Aguero -- the shithead striker who had wormed his way into Leo's heart -- play defense. _Defense_.

He immediately relayed this information to Cesc, who was spending time with his folks about half an hour away. Cesc also thought he didn't watch the right match, because no way in hell was Argentina fielding Kun as a _defender_. And then Gerard painstakingly typed out the WWitv URL and sent it. Twenty minutes later and Cesc was equally astounded.

It just... didn't happen. He was shocked enough that Guardiola was having Leo play _midfield_ , but having a striker play defense was a whole other story. It'd be like... it'd be like making _him_ play goalie.

But if Ruggeri was having Kun play defense all the time, then why did he have Kun benched during the match against Spain? Gerard figured their team had one of the best offenses, with Germany and _maybe_ Portugal as competition, so wouldn't it make more sense to get some practice in? It didn't seem like it was a big secret, but then again, Kun had managed to stay out of the limelight surprisingly well, so maybe there was an element of surprise involved?

He ended up spending the whole morning watching clips of the Argentinian national team during the World Cup qualifiers. He didn't want to admit it, but he was sufficiently impressed. Nowadays, the coaches at La Masia would sort kids into their respective positions within the first year; he couldn't imagine it much different in Argentina. Which meant that Kun had been playing as a forward for seven, maybe even ten, years, yet he was willing to play defense despite that? Gerard wasn't sure he'd be willing to take such a risk, especially right before the World Cup.

-

Cesc called him.

"Whatever you're thinking of, it's a bad idea," he started. And if he had _just_ said that, Geri _might_ have listened to him. Except then he continued with: "If Argentina wants to sink themselves before the start of the tournament, that's their business, you hear?"

"What do you mean sink themselves before the start of the tournament?" Gerard immediately asked.

"You know what I mean."

"Tell me anyways."

"Oh God, are we going to start this _again_?" Cesc heaved a sigh, "Look, no one is saying defenders aren't important -- "

"No, but you just think attackers are even more important."

"Because they are!" And then, when Gerard didn't answer, "Without us, every game would be stuck at nil-nil! Who would watch a match like that?"

"That's because everyone is playing an oversimplified version of the game," Gerard retorted. It was an argument they'd had since childhood and it never failed to piss him off, not that Cesc considered himself the better player, but that he thought a team could be made of ten fucking forwarders.

"Let me guess what you're up to," Cesc said instead, "You're going to invite him over and train him yourself? You fucking traitor."

The thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"Maybe I will," he snapped back, "It would be an investment in the future, after all. Since at least _he's_ coming to Barca, for sure."

Cesc made a dismissive snort.

"Alright. Fine. But if we end up meeting them in the bracket..." he warned.

"You're being ridiculous," Gerard snorted. "You saw their team. It was a miracle they managed to qualify at all; it's not like I'm getting buddy-buddy with the Germans or anything."

"Geri," Cesc sighed, "You play with Leo practically every single day. And you really think he's not gonna try for the Cup?"

"He can try all we wants -- "

"And evidently you're going to help him -- "

"Only because it's no fun otherwise." And then, because Leo had told him about Cesc's own intervention two years prior, he added: "And what about you? The two of them could've broken up but you still made them talk it out."

Cesc made another irritated noise.

"That's different."

"Was it?"

"Of course. It had nothing to do with football."

"Cesc. _Everything_ has to do with football. It's our fucking lives."

"That's different. And on that note, if you teach him how to defend against Fernando or David you can call it the end of our friendship."

Gerard rolled his eyes, "Oh no, I'm so scared. What will become of our working relationship. Oh wait, I forgot, we don't have one because you won't leave England!"

"Fuck you Pique!" Cesc shouted back. Then Gerard heard a slamming sound on the other end and the line went dead. He wondered if Cesc had thrown another phone. Of the three of them he was definitely the least violent by a long shot, what with Leo taking his irritation out on vending machines since their days at La Masia.

He stared at his phone screen, contemplating, and then pulled up his list of contacts. Surprisingly enough, he and Kun had exchanged numbers, though they never had reason to text or call.

If he were as famous as Leo, he would have to justify things like this to the press. But he wasn't, he wasn't even well-known on the national team, so he didn't have to think too hard. He just typed up what felt right and clicked send. Then he tossed his phone to the side and went out for lunch.

-

"Kun said you asked him to come train with us?" Leo asked the next day.

"No good morning or hello?" Gerard asked, holding out his arms in expectation of a hug.

"No, asshole," Leo rolled his eyes. "Why'd you ask him?"

"What'd he tell you?" Gerard asked instead, making grabby hands at the other, "Lemme see, lemme see." Leo rolled his eyes again but he pulled out his phone and turned it to him.

 _leoooooo  
is it okay  
if i come to  
barcelona  
on sunday  
to train with  
geri? :) :) :)_, Kun had written.

"Oh my God," Gerard snickered, reaching over to pinch Leo's cheek, "You have him so whipped, I feel so bad for him."

"Shut up," Leo twisted his face out his grasp.

"Are you gonna let him?" Gerard grinned, playfully elbowing the other, "C'mon, tell him yes. It's the day after the match, we'll have time. And don't tell me you'd pass up the chance to see him."

"Not until you tell me why," Leo pulled away and crossed his arms.

"Obviously I'm going to seduce him with my devilishly handsome looks out from right under your nose."

"Geri."

"Fine fine," Gerard put his hands up, relenting, "So I was worried, because Kun was on the bench during our friendly. So I asked Carlos and he told me to watch some recordings of your past matches. And basically now I know Kun's supposed to be playing defense and I figure, since I actually play defense, I can give him some pointers, you know?" He finished his piece and took a step back, staring at Leo.

Leo stared right back at him for a long time.

Then finally, he said: "Why?"

Gerard shrugged. "Lots of reasons. We've got the time, he's got the time, it'll be good excuse to practice on Sunday..."

"But _why_ ," Leo stressed.

"Think of it as an investment in Barcelona's future. I mean, he's going to come over eventually right? So we're going to play together. And if he can still double as a defender then, then... all the better, right?" Gerard heaved a sigh, even as Leo looked utterly unmoved. "Look, asshole, I just want to do it, okay? So tell him yes and drive his rojiblanco ass over and we'll have a ball, promise."

Something in Leo's eyes softened at the last bit and Gerard was reminded of when he finally started speaking back in La Masia. His voice was super quiet then, as if mumbling and speaking towards the floor wasn't a bad enough combination, but Gerard was certain (and he'd been _right_ ) that Leo was just scared and sad and homesick and lonely and his persistence had paid off.

"Alright," Leo relented, quirking his lips in a smile. "I'll tell him. Thanks, Geri. You really didn't have to."

Gerard rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, someone had to."

-

More than twenty-four hours after he had sent the invitation, Kun finally responded after having received the OK from Leo. The training was set: Sunday the 22nd, at the indoor pitch at Camp Nou. Come early, stay late, bring lots and lots of water. Oh, and of course: absolutely no press allowed.

-

Even after having justified his decision to Leo, he still couldn't shake Cesc' condemnations off. Was he being unfaithful to Spain, he wondered, meeting up with a defender from another national team with the express purpose of improving his game? Or was it as everyone suspected, which was that his loyalty to Barcelona superceded his loyalty to Spain? His family certainly considered themselves Catalonian rather than Spanish, but was that reason enough to help what could be considered the enemy?

He didn't know, but he was glad he didn't have to field such questions.

-

On the 22nd, Géri was not surprised to see Kun and Leo waiting for him at the entrance to the indoor pitch. What was a surprise however, was Cesc.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, bewildered. Last time he checked, they were still fighting.

"I was in town," Cesc grumbled, crossing his arms, "And okay, I was a bit of an ass on the phone, my bad."

"You're always an ass," Géri answered. "So are you here to watch or...?"

"No, I'm here to point and laugh," Cesc rolled his eyes, "Not. I'm here to help out." And with that, he walked over to the two Argentinians and Gerard hurried to keep pace.

"Kun," he greeted, going over to hug the other, "Leo. Good to see you."

"Good to see you too," Kun answered, as cheerful as ever. "Jesus, you're as tall as ever. What are you, two meters?"

"Not even," Gerard answered.

"Don't even get him started," Leo said at the same time. Either he was _still_ smarting over Argentina's loss the week before, or he was just sore over how they tied against Bilbao the night before.

"So," Kun cut through, rubbing his hands.

"So," Gerard agreed, taking the reins and directing their attention to the pitch. "We're going to practice defending."

"Uh, yeah," Kun ducked his head, "Okay. Sure thing."

Gerard grabbed a ball and set it on the pitch. Then he gestured for Kun to try to steal it from him and off they went. As he had seen from the recordings, Kun still played with the mind of a forward most of the time. And while it was useful for certain points, it also meant he took larger risks than he needed to. They talked sparsely, because it was really a matter of muscle memory, and Gerard was again impressed with how quickly Kun just _got_ things. Even if there had been a language barrier, he would have still understood; it was just how fundamental football was with him. With them all.

For the first half of the training session, Leo and Cesc remained on the sidelines. Gerard figured they were catching up with one another or maybe just shaking their heads at the sheer amount of repetition. Of course Kun would have to practice on his own in the coming months, but Gerard figured he could at least give him some pointers. It was no joke that South American football was a different beast from European football -- and it wasn't just the size of the players.

They took a break at noon for a quick lunch in the club cafeteria. It was a good thing Sunday was the usual day off so the cafeteria was practically empty save for a couple players from the youth squad. The four of them took the table next to the vending machine and shared cold cuts and sandwiches while Leo and Kun bemoaned the size of European lunches and Cesc marvelled at the November sun streaming through the windows. The skies of London were thoroughly overcast at this point; Gerard would never understand how anyone could survive without the sun for so long.

About an hour after lunch they started up training again. Leo and Cesc joined them for warm-ups and Leo, at least, could be persuaded to practice with the ball proper. And then it was the three of them taking turns jockeying for the ball with himself correcting Kun when he tried to maneuver the ball towards the goal instead of towards the other side of the pitch (basically, when he played like a forward and not a defender) while Cesc stood with his arms crossed, watching stoically on the sidelines.

They did this for an hour before Cesc threw up his hands and, after muttering a curse, agreed to join in. Then it was an impromptu 2v2 -- because at that point, why not? -- himself and Cesc against Kun and Leo. They used the whole pitch and it was crazy, playing football like that, but also _fun_. They switched teams as soon as Cesc scored the first goal (Kun had messed up in stealing the ball, trying to send it to a midfielder that wasn't there instead of across the pitch) so it was Kun and Cesc against himself and Leo. Leo was still playing to win; Gerard could never get over that. Kun told him afterwards he'd admitted (even though Leo insisted it wasn't the case) that he would go all-out against his sister and even mother. That was just how serious he was about winning when football was concerned.

Anyways, Leo did manage to score that round and they switched up the teams a third time. Kun, surprisingly, insisted on playing defence, which meant Gerard was stuck as the forward/midfielder. Leo and Cesc had played rock paper scissors for it with Cesc ending up as defender. That was the first game where Kun got into the hang of things and it was a beautiful sight to see.

They played three more rounds before Gerard decided they should run through basic drills one more time. Kun heaved a great sigh and called him a slavedriver but he went through the drills with unmasked enthusiasm. Gerard was grinning at the end of it; he couldn't help it, Kun's good humor was just plain infectious. Meanwhile, Leo and Cesc amused themselves playing football-tennis with the other goal as the net and a particularly high header from Cesc led to the ball hitting the ceiling.

Then the PA said the building would be closing in half an hour's time and to please head to the locker rooms since it was Sunday and all.

"Hey," Kun said to him as they were toweling off, "Thanks for everything. I learned a lot today."

"No problem," Gerard answered, "Really, I was surprised you agreed to switch positions. I don't think I would've done it."

Kun laughed. "I wasn't given much of a choice but I think I've come to terms with it now."

"You'll make a damn good defender some day."

"Thanks," Kun beamed at him, "And when I do, I'll be sure to say I learned from the best."

"Oh boy," Gerard shuddered, "I can see the headlines already: _Aguero admits to additional training meetings with Barcelona teammates before the transfer_."

"Would they really write that?"

"Kun. They'd write anything."

"Ah." He made a face. "Guess I'll be careful then. Thanks for the heads-up."

"You are coming to Barcelona, though?" Gerard pressed.

"Yeah, definitely," Kun nodded, "As soon as my contract with Athlético ends."

"So... next next year?"

"Yup. Next next year."

"Nice," he grinned, "Well, I know you're still a striker at heart but if you wanna double as a defender here too..." he shrugged, "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"One step at a time," Kun sighed, "Let's get through the rest of the season first."

Then Cesc came back inside and told them Leo was getting impatient waiting and they left the building. Kun thanked him again for the spur-of-the-moment training session and hugged him _and_ kissed him on the cheek and Leo followed suit (with the hug, not the kiss) which really showed how much the gesture meant and Gerard laughed it off and insisted it was an investment in the future even if he didn't believe it himself. Then the two of them were driving off in Leo's Porsche, off to hold hands and watch sunsets or whatever it was they did off the pitch, leaving Cesc and himself in the Camp Nou parking lot.

"Think they have a chance of winning?" Cesc asked as they were preparing to part ways as well.

Gerard laughed at that.

"Not a snowball's chance in hell," he answered. And he meant every word.

"That's the spirit," Cesc grinned, slapping him on the back, "Visca Espanya," he added.

"Forca Barca," Gerard shot back.

"Someday Géri," Cesc assured him, twirling his car keys with his index finger as he sauntered over to his mother's convertible, "Someday." And Gerard knew he would have to content himself with that.


	21. For we don't realize

Chapter 22  
 **For we don't realize**

Visiting his grandfather was never a pleasant affair. Leo loved the man dearly and still held fond memories of him driving his wife and grandson to Sunday matches at Newell's but that had been years ago. In truth, Leo had lost both grandparents with the death of his grandmother. His grandfather had retreated into himself, speaking once a blue moon. Gone was the man with the rich crooning voice, the man who would hoist Leo up onto his knee and read aloud to him from whatever newspaper or novel he was working through at the moment. Some people recovered from grief. Others never did.

About five years after the loss of his beloved wife -- so, while Leo was still in Barcelona, around when the national team at Spain had approached him to play for the U17 -- his grandfather suffered a stroke that left the right side of his face paralyzed. Their family tried putting him first in a hospital and then in a retirement center, but he wouldn't have any of it, screaming until his lungs were hoarse that he wanted to go _home_. Leo could understand that much; he figured he would want the same thing at that stage, but the problem was, home for Antonio Cuccittini wasn't the three story house the family had moved into following the U20. It was the ramshackle abode tucked away in the outskirts of the city, the little hut that didn't have heating or air conditioning where his best days were spent. And he wouldn't rest -- wouldn't eat more than the bare necessities -- until he was allowed to move back there.

What could his daughter and son-in-law do? They figured he had months left, that this was his dying wish, and because of this, they took up the service of a husband and wife nursing pair so they could care for the old man round the clock. When Leo went back in 2003 to see him, his grandfather seemed to have gone back in time. He didn't recognize Leo and thought himself thirty-five years old. Celia -- the prettiest girl in the world, he proudly told Leo, smiling with the half of his face that could -- was coming right back with cake and would Leo like to stay for that? Leo couldn't even dredge up an answer but it didn't seem his grandfather minded.

And now more than six years had passed and Antonio Cuccittini had only retreated further into his own little world. He had become the textbook definition of a shut-in, refusing to leave the house for New Year's or Christmas or even the Day of the Dead. In his mind, he had created a reality where Celia was still alive and would be coming home any minute now, always with cake.

Leo's parents had sheltered him from the worst of it, giving his grandfather's condition names like dementia and post-traumatic stress, but only now, now that he was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, hand hovering inches above the turn-of-the-last-century brass knocker, did he know the root cause was heartbreak.

He swallowed hard and lifted the knocker, rapping sharply three times.

The door swung open, revealing Mrs. Fernandez. She was a waif-like middle-aged woman who handled all the cooking and cleaning in the house while her husband wheeled Antonio here and there, carrying him to and from the bathroom if need be.

"Lionel," she greeted, "How long it's been!" And then, because his face no doubt fell at that, she quickly added: "But I know you've been busy. Come, come in."

"Thank you for having me," Leo answered, stepping across the threshold and planting a quick kiss on the woman's cheek.

Mrs. Fernandez tittered, smiling affectionately at him. "Come in, come in. You'll have mate? We were just preparing lunch." She herded him into the kitchen where there was a veritable rainforest sprawling across the countertops and cabinets. There was a whole tree planted in the second sink and Leo swore he heard the croaking of frogs.

"Thank you," Leo repeated as he took the proffered cup and gave a nominal sip. "I can't stay for long though, I'm only here for the records." He winced even as the words slipped through, though Mrs. Fernandez' smile didn't falter.

"Of course," she answered, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Finish your mate and I'll take you to the library."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Fernandez, likely sensing his haste, had only poured him half a cup which he made quick work of. Then he passed it back to her, empty save for the straw and leaves, and she nodded approvingly before leading him from the kitchen to the library. It wasn't a real library of course, just a room that was filled from floor to ceiling with books. Well, that was how Leo remembered it last time. The room had been expanded in the time since, it seemed they had knocked out the wall of the guestroom and converted that into another library.

The conjoined rooms were dimly lit and the scent of old paper was nearly overwhelming.

An armchair was tucked between two bookshelves and curled up on said armchair, with his knees brought up to his chest, was Antonio Cuccittini himself. He was snoring lightly, though there was a photo album that seemed to large for his stick-thin arms to carry wedged between his right side and the armchair.

"Ah," Mrs. Fernandez tsk'ed, "No matter how many times I tell him to sleep on the bed..."

Leo tore his eyes away, lest he start conflating the shell of a man in the corner with his lively spirited grandfather.

"Thank you," he said a fourth time.

"I'll leave you to it," she murmured, giving a quick curtsey before seeking respite in the kitchen. Leo took a deep breath and then got to work. At that point in time, they could only get married in Spain so his planning had been with that in mind. There was an enormous amount of paperwork which he couldn't pass off to an assistant so there he was, trying to navigate the bureaucracy by himself. Kun was pretty certain he would get dual citizenship the next year which would make things easier, but at the same time, if anyone on any paper managed to catch wind of the proceedings... if some bureaucrat who watched football was stamping the paperwork and saw their names... Leo swallowed again, willing himself to ignore the million and one what-if's.

Anyways, in order to get the Consular certificate which basically stated they hadn't been married to anyone else before, they needed birth certificates and family registries. The birth certificate had been with his mother but they'd stored the family registry in the old home out of paranoid fear in 2000 and never bothered taking it back because neither Rodrigo nor Matias had needed it for their marriages.

So here he was, scrounging around his grandfather's immense library, looking through boxes upon boxes of old documents -- he'd even found a copy of his parents' marriage license -- looking for the family registry. Right as he found it, after more than two hours of searching, his grandfather woke up. He gave a great yawn and kicked his legs down, Leo turned just in time to see the photo album drop to the floor.

His grandfather reached for the fallen album and Leo got to his feet, stooping down and plucking it up. He passed it to the old man, trying not to think too much about his papery clammy skin.

"Thank you," his grandfather said.

"You're welcome," Leo answered. He stepped back and watched as his grandfather carefully set the album in his lap. With trembling hands, he pried open the cover and then began to trace his fingertips against the faded photographs. Staring at his grandfather then, Leo wondered if there was some secret or trick to that sort of devotion. Or if it was like football and some mixture of grit and luck. He must've stood there for at least half an hour but not once did his grandfather look up or acknowledge his presence. Of course, to him, Leo was either a ten-year-old boy or not yet born. He probably wouldn't be able to believe he was twenty-two years old -- not when he thought himself no more than fourty most days.

In truth, Leo had hoped his grandfather would be willing to converse with him. To argue with him on the necessity of marriage just so he could get his own line of reasoning straight. Because for the rest of his family, it was enough that they wanted it, but he knew the world was not as kind. He thought of Maradona then. Maradona, who had died alone in a sea of flowers, a god who would live on in their collective minds as the eternal youth who had won them the World Cup in '86, and he remembered his own promise to Kun then.

 _That won't be us_.

At the end, he left without saying anything, taking with him the necessary documents before bidding farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Fernandez. He left the house and stood at the midpoint between the door and his car, staring for a while longer. All of a sudden, he was filled with the desire to see Kun. To hold him close and kiss his cheek and mouth and everywhere else and never let go because even if they had forever -- which they assuredly did not -- he would never be sated. Never. So he called up his assistant and had his connecting flight changed so he'd be flying from Paris to Madrid instead of Barcelona. Then he got in his car and drove home.

-

Even though he had told Kun he'd be dropping by on his way back from home, he didn't think Kun would meet him at the airport. Leo did a double-take, seeing him at the arrival's lounge.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, even as his feet were taking him over. He wrapped his arms around Kun, practically melting in his embrace. "I didn't even tell you my flight," he mumbled.

"How long do you think I've been waiting here?" Kun retorted. And then, when Leo pulled away to look at him disbelievingly, he laughed, and tugged Leo's ear, "Kidding, kidding. I called your mom and asked."

"Why does that not make me feel any better," Leo grumped, even as he let Kun lead him out.

"Wait," Leo said, as they walked past the taxi rank, "Where are we going?"

"To the parking lot?" Kun asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You bought a _car_?"

"Well, yeah," Kun scratched his cheek.

"But what about the matching plates!"

"Well, the thing is, as soon as you dropped me off after our..." Kun flushed and dropped his voice, " _date_ , I was just itching to drive. And then I was looking at cars online and one thing led to another and..."

"I get that," Leo conceded, though he was still a little miffed he couldn't have bought it himself. "Well what is it?"

"You'll see in one second," Kun grinned.

Kun led them to the third floor of the parking garage where a sleek black Lamborghini was tucked between two SUV's.

"What do you think?" he asked Leo.

"The wheels are red."

"Doesn't it look cool?" Kun beamed and then whipped out his car keys to unlock the doors. "And look, the doors open like this -- " he opened one to demonstrate. They were suicide doors.

"Okay, that is pretty cool."

"And the sound system is fantastic so when I'm stuck in rush hour traffic I'm not even angry. It's great, c'mon, get in, let's get dinner." Kun all but shoved him into the passenger seat -- because of course the Lamborghini was a two-seater -- and Leo laughed, going along. It was a pretty cool car and the sound system was fantastic. They sang along to Gilda's penultimate album while stuck in traffic and Leo tried not to think too much about the words. Eventually, Kun pulled into the underground parking lot for the restaurant, dropping his keys off to the valet before leading the way upstairs.

Despite having slept for most of the flight and having a lot to tell Kun, he found himself nodding off as the meal progressed. At some point, he dozed off entirely, and woke up to Kun staring fondly at him.

"Sorry," Leo mumbled, coloring.

"It's fine," Kun told him. "Want me to drive you back?"

"You know I do," he easily answered, "But Resino'd have your head if you miss tomorrow's match."

Kun frowned. "Resino's no longer managing."

Leo blinked, certain he had misheard. "What?"

"We had another spate of losses," Kun bit his bottom lip, "I felt really bad. It was worse than with Aguirre because at least he kind of wanted to retire. But Resino," he looked away, clearly troubled, "It's always the managers," he sighed. "They always bear the blame."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Leo answered, when the words finally came to him. "When was the switch?"

"More than a month ago. Right after we lost 4-0 to Chelsea."

"Oh." Leo bit his bottom lip too. He felt bad for not keeping track of things, for getting caught up in Barcelona's own issues. See, he was really used to playing with Eto'o and Sylvinho, Eto'o especially, and Zlatan, while way younger and faster and just as talented... it just wasn't the same. They were tying against Osasuna and Bilbao for crying out loud! "Sorry," he said again.

"It's fine," Kun shook his head, giving a weak smile. "But..."

"But?"

"But the thing with Resino -- and now Flores -- it gets me worried."

Leo's mind immediately went to his own concerns: "You think Athlético will try to sell you?"

"No," Kun shook his head. "I mean with Ruggeri."

"But we were at the top of the bracket," Leo argued, "His position is a lot more stable."

"I guess," Kun admitted, though the crease between his brow said he wasn't convinced. "But you know how the AFA is."

"Things have been different ever since..." Leo paused, "Well, ever since he died. Now everyone is only thinking about that third cup. They know he's our only shot at making it, so they're not going to do anything to jeopardize that."

"Do you think we have a chance?" Kun asked.

"Of course. And don't be affected by the round against Spain. You weren't even playing then."

"Yeah," Kun took a sip of water before letting out a long sigh. "Yeah, I know. And even if we don't make it this time, there's always 2014 or 2018."

"Yeah," Leo nodded, "Though we _could_ try for numbers four and five there."

Kun laughed properly then and Leo heartened at the sound.

"There's only ever victory where your concerned, isn't there?" he asked, eyes twinkling. He reached across the table to clasp Leo's hand and Leo stared down at the silver ring, the same one that was tucked beneath his shirt.

"We've only ever won," Leo remarked, because this was another concern of his. "Together on the international stage."

"Well we've won plenty of times without each other," Kun reasoned. "And we've lost plenty of times too."

"But never for a whole tournament."

"It has to come sooner or later," Kun shrugged. Then he grinned, giving Leo's hand a light squeeze, "Don't worry boludo, we'll make you into a mature and responsible loser like the rest of us one of these days."

Leo flinched at that word without meaning to and Kun immediately caught on.

"What's the matter?" he asked, leaning forward in concern.

Leo waited for a while, trying to find the right words. Finally, he settled on the most relevant ones. "There's not going to be Paris this year. No Zurich either."

Kun furrowed his brows, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't place in the top three for either award."

"What!" Kun's jaw dropped and Leo felt his heart beat -- because at least Kun still had faith in him. "But that's absurd. You won the Copa and League this year!"

"Yeah, but it wasn't a treble," Leo frowned, "And the critics are saying..." he trailed off, even thinking about it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"What?" Kun prompted. "What are they saying?"

"They're saying," Leo took a deep breath, "That the only reason I perform so well is because of the climate in Spain."

"What!" Kun exclaimed, louder than the first time. The other patrons in the restaurant turned to look at them and Leo ducked his head while Kun whispered apologies. He quickly turned back, hissing angrily: "But that's stupid! That's actually bullshit! The other leagues are always stealing players from us, not the other way around!"

"I guess I didn't perform as well as I should have."

"You were the best out of everyone," Kun said, eyes blazing with belief. "Even if you don't think so, you have to know _I_ always will."

"I don't need to be the best," Leo protested, "Winning would be enough."

"You'll win," Kun reassured him, "Next year. Or the year after. Whatever. They've got to give it to you some year and I'll be clapping for you from the front row."

Leo rolled his eyes as he held back from leaning across the table and kissing him. He had been trying to get into the mindset of rooming together professionally for the World Cup (read: no hand-holding or kissing or talking about marriage or sex) but it never really cut off the urge entirely.

"It hasn't even started yet," he said instead.

"Yeah," Kun agreed. "It hasn't."

They stared at one another across the table, savoring the moment, before Kun cleared his throat and pulled his hand back, checking his watch to see it was half past nine. They picked up Kun's car from the valet then he drove Leo to the train station (because Leo had insisted on taking the train back, Resino or no) where he caught the 22:15 to Barcelona in the nick of time.

-

Kun called him the day Barcelona got out of the group stage in the Champion's League.

Athletico had lost badly to Porto two days prior and about a week ago, Fernando Torres had been awarded this year's Ballon d'Or, mainly for the win in Rome, with Christiano and Gerrard as second and third place. It was the first time in a while that all three players came from the Premier League (though only Gerrard was an English national) but the Spaniards especially were up-in-arms about the judges' biases. Leo wasn't bitter; he knew Fernando deserved it more than him, this year especially, but it was frustrating because he knew he could play _better_.

"Kun," Leo said.

"Leo," Kun's voice was shakey, as it had been the year before, and the sound sent Leo's heart into overdrive. "Leo, I got into a fight with Flores."

"The new manager? Over what? What happened?" He rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand while Kun took a shakey breath on the other line. Here he'd been worrying about his own standing in the club, especially now that Zlatan had gone to the press saying he'd been sidelined and mistreated.

"It was just so many things. The loss against Porto, how Resino was fired, maybe even the match against Chelsea. I -- I don't think I can do it, Leo. I'm practicing defense when I can, but it's too much. I can't concentrate on the two."

Leo felt his heart sink. Kun wasn't the complaining sort. He could only imagine how dire the situation was.

"So don't," he said. "Drop the defensive stuff. You can pick it up later." It wasn't a case of prioritizing the club over the national team, but rather, because Kun was a striker at heart and Leo didn't want him to lose his true calling. A third star wasn't worth it; not in his eyes.

"I don't get to make that call," Kun said after a pause.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been benched for the next month. Maybe longer."

"What the hell did you do, Kun!"

"I threw a punch," Kun admitted. And then, before Leo could swear, he added: "And I'm not sorry about it. He's selling Maxi to Chelsea, Leo. _Maxi_."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. Something about reorganizing the team."

"Is Forlan still there?"

"Yeah." A pause. "For now. He was the one holding me off actually. Well, we were both egging each other on."

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine that scenario. It came a little too easily for his liking and he groaned. "Kun," he said, "You can't just try to punch your manager." Even Zlatan, no matter how pissed off Pep made him, never tried to hit him. And Leo could tell the other was close to his boiling point at times. The whole season was filled with mistakes and he really wished Samuel had never left.

"I didn't actually get a hit in." Kun paused, giving a harsh exhale. "I wish I had, though. You wouldn't believe the shit he was spewing, how none of us were carrying our weight and the whole team needed to be replaced brick by brick -- "

"You can't let it get to you."

"I already did."

Leo heaved a sigh of his own, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So how long are you out for?"

"A month. At least."

"Are you sure?"

"I just got the notice."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Kun sighed. "Go home, I guess."

"That's good. Yeah. You should go back. I'll meet you there as soon as I can." He paused, thinking it through, "Are you sure you don't have to be on the bench?"

"Leo," Kun ground out, "It makes my skin crawl to be breathing the same air as him."

"Okay, okay," he tried to come to terms with it all. Athletico, with another new manager. Maxi, about to leave for England. Kun, on the bench for disorderly conduct and feeling insecure about his position as a forward because of the training with the national team and Geri. "Yeah," he repeated at the end of it. "Go home. It'll be good for you. Spend some time with family. I'll try to leave early too."

"Don't you dare," Kun snarled, "Just because I fucked up -- "

"Except you didn't," Leo cut through. Kun made a disparaging noise but he pushed on: "It's just growing pains, Kun. All of it. Things..." he took a deep breath, "Things aren't really good in Barcelona either."

"Well share something with me," Kun grumped. "It seems like it's all sunshine and rainbows where you are."

Leo laughed humorlessly. "Hardly." He said. "Look, we got a new forward. Zlatan? Ibra...something something? Anyways, he's good, but not as good as he thinks he is. Pep can't stand him and to be honest, neither can I. He just... doesn't mesh well with the rest of the team. Geri and the others are taking bets on how long he's going to last; it sounds like he might be transferred out in January."

"Shit," Kun breathed. "That sounds awful. Who else is there?"

"I don't know. But it's not... what was it? Sunshine and flowers here either. That's all I wanted to say."

"But how's midfield?" Kun pressed. "You're still playing it, aren't you?"

"I am," Leo admitted, "And it's okay. I mean, it's just one of those things you need to work at. Like any position."

"But Guardiola wants you to stick with it?"

"Yes. For the most part."

"Okay." Kun drew another breath. "Okay. Then I have to stick with this too."

"Kun," Leo all-but-snapped, "Just because I can doesn't mean you can't." His words caught up to him and his hand flew instinctively to his mouth. "Shit," he cursed, "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry, I -- "

Except Kun laughed. And it was a proper laugh this time, not the devil-may-care chuckle he had given when talking about Flores.

"I know," he said. "I know there's a thousand and one things you can do that I can't. But I've got to try Leo. Ruggeri's as much our shot as we are his."

Leo bit his bottom lip. He didn't know if he wanted to hit Kun or hug him. Maybe one and then the other. He sighed and then said: "Just -- just don't stop thinking of yourself as a striker, okay?"

"That's not what Geri told me."

"I'm trying to keep Zlatan on another year," he straight-up blurted out.

"What?"

"If we keep him on for two years, then we can transfer him out right as your contract ends." And then, when Kun still didn't get it: "His place in Barcelona can be yours, Kun." He didn't know if he could keep Pep and Zlatan away from each other's throats long enough -- he wasn't even sure _he_ would last that long, that was just how badly the Swede rubbed shoulders with everyone -- but he had to try.

"Leo," Kun said, "That's crazy."

"Is it?" Leo countered.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"How so?" Because damn it if he hadn't put a fair amount of thought into it!

"You can't just do that," Kun protested. "You can't just... I don't know... _reserve_ a spot for me like that. It doesn't work that way."

"I didn't do it on purpose. But it could work that way. Maybe."

"If it works out then it works out," Kun started.

"No," Leo snarled, leaping to his feet with his free hand clenched into a fist. "No I will not leave it to chance. Not again."

"Chelsea has made an offer."

" _What_." This time, Leo really couldn't believe his ears.

"Fernando told me so."

"Kun. You can't."

"I know," Kun reassured him. "I won't. I already told them I have no plans of transferring until the end of our contract and I told Fernando that I had my eye set on Barcelona and I think he understood. Look, Leo," he sighed, "Sorry for calling you -- "

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Leo snapped. "Haven't I called you before?"

"You have, but not like this."

"Shut up."

"All I wanted to tell you was that -- I don't know -- " Kun made a helpless noise, "I think Barcelona will have me? Even without that guy you don't get along with in the picture?"

"Of course," Leo answered, all of a sudden fierce. "Any club would be happy to have you. But you'll be the _best_ here." He understood what Kun meant though and softened his tone right after. "You're right, of course. Even if you don't make the starting line from the get-go, Pep'll field you soon enough."

"Mm," Kun answered, showing he had returned to center. At the sound of his acquiescing hum, Leo relaxed. "Okay," he said, and Leo could picture him nodding. "I'll head back to Argentina first. Let me know when you're back, okay?"

"Of course," Leo answered. "We can train with the rest of the team too."

"Yeah," Kun agreed. "That too." He sighed again, "2009 has been a washout for me. I'm praying 2010 will be better."

"Yeah," Leo answered. "Me too. Give my love to your family, will you? Your mom, especially." Kun called him a suck-up and a mother-stealer but he said yes he would and told Leo to pass his love on as well. Then they hung up, exchanging good-nights even though it was nine in the morning, and Leo crawled back into bed. He'd have to talk to Pep, about bringing Kun on and getting some extra time off and World Cup practice. Tomorrow, he told himself, drifting off to sleep. Tomorrow, he would do all that.

-

He didn't feel anxious about talking with Pep, at least. With Rijkaard, there had been a whole appointment system in-place where each player got fifteen minutes of one-to-one time per week. During his session, Leo really couldn't think of anything to say and most of his memories consisted of staring awkwardly at the floor while sneaking glances at the clock. Rijkaard had always been Rijkaard in his mind and just 'sir' in direct speech and he'd never expressed dissatisfaction with either address so Leo had kept it up.

Pep, on the other hand, blew in like a May whirlwind. He was a member of the dream team back in the day and even if Cesc hadn't idolized him, Leo had seen enough of his matches to admire him as a player. As a manager he was even better, if such a feat were possible, and Leo was certain -- just as he was certain with Maradona's playstyle -- that even if he were given a million years and a million teams, he wouldn't be half the manager as Pep.

Which was Zlatan was having such a hard time fitting in the team and why Leo was loathe to warm up to him. Pep was _Pep_ ; he was impossible to dislike. It was the one connecting factor between everyone (else) on the team, outside of their shared love of football of course, and somehow, Zlatan just didn't get it.

Pep was seated in his office, sorting through neatly ordered piles of paperwork, when Leo knocked on the door. He had just scored twice in the Saturday match against Coruna with Zlatan scoring the third and final goal of the match. He had hoped Pep's plaudits in the post-game speech would have eased tensions but nope, Zlatan was still bitter about being left on the bench because of an injury.

"Come in," Pep said after a moment's pause. Leo opened the door and Pep raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Leo," he said. "Come in, sit down, what can I do for you? Good job for yesterday's match by the way. I would've congratulated you but I thought Ibraham needed it more."

"I understand," Leo answered, sliding into the opposite seat. He raised an eyebrow, "Any luck?"

"None," Pep shook his head. "He's closed off tight as a clam. I have no idea what it is."

"He told us he was angry about being benched."

Pep frowned. "But that was for his own good."

"I know. But he doesn't see it that way."

"I see." Pep sighed. "Well, he's an amazing player, even you have to admit that."

"I know," Leo nodded.

"It's my own failing, that we got off on the wrong foot somehow. His agent has already told the director he's dissatisfied -- and he's barely four months in," Pep shook his head, more or less resigned, then he steepled his fingers and looked at Leo, "But enough of Ibraham. What are you here for, Leo?"

"I wanted to talk about my plans for the future," Leo answered. He was getting a lot better at getting to the point, in part because of Pep's limitless patience.

"Alright," Pep nodded, as if it were no surprise, "Talk."

Leo figured he would start with the most important point, even if it was two years away. "You know Sergio Aguero?" he asked. Pep nodded, saying nothing. "He's agreed to transfer to Barcelona after his contract with Athletico ends."

 _That_ took Pep by surprise. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes growing wide.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. Very."

"Well," Pep traced a circle about his mouth, stroking the beard he didn't have. "That certainly changes things. When does his contract end? 2010?"

"2011."

"Ah." He pursed his lips. "2011. Okay. I mean, that's fantastic, don't get me wrong, I've seen the two of you playing together for the national team and I'm sure Barcelona will benefit from him but -- "

"But?"

"But 2011 is a long time in football terms. We're still missing a striker and Ibraham has yet to replace Sam."

"I know," Leo dipped his head. "But -- but you'll take him on?"

"Of course," Pep readily replied. "Do you know there's a dogpile for him? I feel like we're cheating a little since we've got you, but I wouldn't say no to a tag team like that." And then, when Leo's brows furrowed, he continued with: "You haven't heard? News is Chelsea just made Athletico an offer. I don't know how much it was, but rumor is it was twice what they paid his team back home. And then there's ManU and ManCity not to mention Liverpool," Pep shrugged, "He's an incredibly promising striker who's already delivered results. We'd be crazy not to take him."

Leo gave an audible sigh of relief, almost slumping back into his seat. He didn't know why he was so worried, everything Pep said made sense and he knew of it, at least subconsciously.

"What?" Pep looked at him oddly, "Did you think I would tell you no?"

"Maybe," Leo shrugged. Then he grinned. "It's good to know you didn't. I'll make sure to let Kun know."

"You do that," Pep nodded. "Now is that all or...?"

"Well actually," Leo interjected, this time flashing a properly guilty smile, "I figured, since we're already at the top of the rankings and we ought to give Zlatan a chance to shine -- "

"Oh no," Pep groaned, "Don't tell me what I think you're asking."

With ninety-nine percent of the rest of the world, Leo would have stopped there. But because it was Pep, who he knew and trusted and had faith in, he plowed on in a practically blithe manner.

" -- I was wondering if you'd let me sit out the remaining matches. So I could head back early and spend some time with family." He flashed what he hoped was a winning smile.

Pep heaved a sigh, rubbing his temple with one hand.

"First," he started, "We're only two points ahead of Real. Second, you realize we'll be relying on Ibraham while you're gone."

"Yes," Leo nodded. "I think it would be a good opportunity for him to find his role in the team."

"And because you want to spend more time training with the national team," Pep added.

"Yes," Leo freely admitted. "That too."

They stared at one another for a while. Even though Pep could stare down a bull if he wanted to, he wasn't glaring at the moment so Leo could hold his own. Eventually, Pep looked away, sighing.

"Alright, fine," he relented. "Take your early vacation. I assume you're staying past the New Year too?"

"If possible."

"Alright, alright," he shook his head, "Never let it be said I don't spoil my players every now and then. Go on then, go on. And not a word of this to anyone you hear? Especially not Gerard; he already thinks we're doing too much to accommodate!"

"I know," Leo answered, standing up and grinning, "I won't, don't worry. Thank you. Thank you, truly."

"And give Sergio my best wishes."

Leo beamed properly at that. "I will," he promised. "I will, for sure."

-

Although Leo wanted to call Kun as soon as he left Pep's office, or at least relay the news to him via text, he really wanted to see Kun's expression for it. So he called for a booking on the next flight to Buenos Aires and texted Kun he'd be back shortly. Kun answered right as he was about to board:

_i'm amazed  
that was crazy  
fast what the  
heck did you  
do?!?! o_o  
see you soon  
:*_

Leo answered with _see you soon :*_ before turning off his phone and boarding the flight. He was asleep for the first leg of the journey -- Barcelona to Mexico City -- but wide awake for the second. Going home always lifted his spirits like nothing else: the thought of seeing his parents, his siblings, his nephews and niece, his cousins, even their neighbors. And of course, Kun. He was grinning from ear-to-ear as he stepped off the plane where his family was waiting behind customs.

"My God," his mother exclaimed after she had wrapped him in a hug and covered his face in kisses, "I don't think I've ever seen you so happy."

"It looks good," his father added, smiling so that the edges of his eyes crinkled. "He's such a handsome boy, our son."

"Pa, please," Leo mumbled, even as he went to hug the other. Once again, he was thankful for his family, for how loving and supportive they were of him and how they never stopped seeing him as a kid, even at age twenty-two. It was a comforting thing to return to, though the breaks were getting shorter.

"Is this all you brought back?" his mother asked, gesturing to his hand luggage.

"Yes. Don't worry, the Christmas gifts will be arriving in the mail."

"What a naughty boy," she laughed, pinching his cheek. And like that, the three of them walked off to the waiting car. As it turned out, both Rodrigo and Matias were spending Christmas with their in-laws this year, which meant it would be a quiet celebration for the four of them at home. His mother asked if he wanted to invite Kun; Leo declined, saying Kun ought to spend some time with his own family.

In truth, it was getting progressively harder to room with Kun and not _do_ anything -- what with years of built-up tension that seemed due to erupt at a moment's notice -- and made all the more difficult by how _enthusiastic_ and _willing_ Kun had been. Once every so often, Leo would think back to how disappointed he had looked at the failed kiss, even as his face was wreathed with shadows.

Except then of course his parents led him back to their home where he was greeted with the sight of Kun and Maria Sol seated in front of the television, enraptured with some ongoing soap opera.

"Surprise!" Maria Sol told him, getting up and throwing her arms about him while Kun gave a sheepish little wave -- while taking another sip of mate.

Leo narrowed his eyes, but then Maria Sol was pushing him onto the couch and his mother was urging them to eat _something_ and all five of them were soon piled about the television and all Leo wanted to know was: at what point could Kun just drop by their house like it was nothing special and why hadn't he been informed of this?

They watched the soap to the end of the episode -- a cliffhanger, of course (Leo couldn't even tell the characters apart and knew nothing of the plot) -- and then moved to the dinner table where his mother set the plates while his father refilled the mate. Conversation was light-hearted: they talked about Maria Sol's grades (decent, but could be better), the political situation (terrible but stable), the neighbors (the family two doors down was going through a messy divorce because the wife caught her husband with her sister), and of course the children (Lucas had just started school while Pablo and Gustavo had picked up football and Isabella could tie her shoes). Simple things.

Kun shared stories from his family who were lively as ever, about his sisters and brothers (little monsters still, the lot of them), his niece and brother-in-law (unspeakably cute and surprisingly sympathetic respectively), and his grandparents (still dancing the tango every weekend despite being 69 and 72) and they laughed at those too and Leo looked at the four of them and warmed up at the sight.

He was in high spirits when they were tucking in for the night. Each of them had one of Maria Sol's spare bedrooms with a shared bathroom in the hall.

"I talked to Pep," he said, as Kun was brushing his teeth. How Kun had a toothbrush in his family home, he had no idea.

Kun made a gargling noise which was probably 'about what'.

"About your impending transfer, of course."

Kun spat and rinsed his mouth. "And?" he prompted, "What did he say?"

"He said okay."

"Like that?" Kun shot him an incredulous look.

"Like that," Leo nodded. "Well, his exact words were: 'We'd be crazy not to take him'." He smiled, "So I guess it's settled."

Kun heaved a sigh. "Like that. Wow. Okay," he wet a towel and scrubbed his face while Leo started flossing, "That's good to know, thanks."

"You can play striker when you're with us," Leo reassured him.

"Great," Kun nodded. "That's great."

Leo paused in his flossing to look at the other. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nerves, I guess," Kun shrugged. "I still can't believe we're going to the World Cup. I still can't believe _I'm_ going to the World Cup." He heaved another sigh and then a huge smile lit up his face. Leo was temporarily blinded by it. "Leo," Kun said, taking his hands and squeezing them, "We're going to the World Cup."

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "Yeah, we are."

They finished washing up and said good-night before heading off to their separate rooms. The following day, Kun left after lunch, saying he had promised he would babysit Maria (his niece). So they wished him safe travels and Leo's mother insisted he call when he arrived just so they'd know he was safe and sound and Kun actually agreed without complaining -- which just went to show who was really sucking up to whose parents, Leo thought -- before hopping into his dad's Volkswagon and driving off.

They spent a week with their families, then a week training with the National Team. Then there was Christmas break followed by another week of training, then New Year's Eve and Day, and even more training. By the end of it, Leo was certain Ruggeri was sick of them -- all of them -- and they were certainly getting a little sick of each other. But it was exactly the sort of intensive practice they needed and it was miracle enough that the entire squad was assembled then. Kun spent a lot more time with Maxi during both sessions, basically trying to compensate for something Maxi didn't even blame him for. Meanwhile Fernando was thrilled to have an old teammate from Athletico over at Chelsea so it all worked out in the end.


	22. Our faith in the prize

Chapter 22  
 **Our faith in the prize**

"So," Diego started as they were seated across from one another at the cafeteria in Vicente Calderon. He'd ask to meet with Kun half an hour before training and Kun was glad to see him. He hadn't been contacted by anyone else on the team and was filled with anxiety that Flores might've dropped him from the squad.

Because of Diego's hesitance, Kun assumed the worst.

"Oh God," he blanched. "Am I being transferred? Or sacked?"

"What?" Diego's eyebrows went up. "No. It turns out we're co-captains now."

Kun was not expecting that. His eyebrows shot up too. "What?"

"We're co-captains. Now that Maxi's left, it's up to us to cheer on the team, motivate the players and what have you."

"Us?" Kun repeated. "Like, you and me?"

"Yeah," Diego pursed his lips which would have been a grimace for anyone else. "I'm not very happy about it either, but it is what it is."

At that point, Kun was already overwhelmed by the double-duty of being forward/striker at Athletico and defending with the national team -- but to put captaincy, even co-captaincy on top of the platter? He gripped the edges of his seat, digging his fingers into the marbled wood.

"I can't be captain," he said.

"Co-captain," Diego corrected.

"I can't be co-captain," he reiterated. "I don't do motivational speeches. I don't..." he faltered. What he really wanted to say was that he was only twenty-one years old and no way was he ready for this kind of responsibility (because after a lifetime of bemoaning his age or rather bemoaning people referring to his youth the greatest irony would be falling back on it as soon as he needed it) but that would mean pushing everything onto Diego. Diego, who was even less suited to the role.

"If you don't want it, I won't force it on you," Diego said, giving him an easy way out.

"I don't want it," Kun admitted, "But I'm not enough of an asshole to push everything onto you." He sighed, taking a swig of his orange juice, "I'm guessing this was Flores' idea?"

"Yeah," Diego nodded. "He wanted to make it up to you. Thought you felt you didn't get enough recognition."

"That's not what we were fighting about," Kun protested.

"Yeah, I know," Diego shrugged, "He's not bad, really. I've had worse."

"I know," Kun admitted. The spat with Flores had left a bitter taste in his mouth throughout the holidays, especially when Maxi took him aside and told him he had wanted to go to Chelsea. The timing was bad and he still got a little worked up thinking about how Flores implied Maxi wasn't pulling his weight on the team, but at the end of the day, _he_ was the one who had resorted to fisticuffs and he was lucky Flores didn't drop him from the lineup for it.

"I'll do it," he said, playing with his glass before looking at Diego again. "I'll be co-captain with you. God, can you listen to me?"

"Thank God," Diego murmured. His shoulders slouched with relief. He reached over and clapped a hand on Kun's shoulder. "Welcome back, by the way. The team's not the same without you."

"Thanks," Kun answered. Now was evidently not a good time to admit he had just gotten the OK from Barcelona's coach to transfer over in 2011. Nor was he going to admit he'd been training throughout the break as a defender in preparation for the World Cup. Well, Diego knew both these things, and he was grateful the other hadn't let either slip to Flores or the rest of the squad.

"I'm glad you're still here," Kun added.

"It does feel weird without Maxi."

"Yeah." Kun told himself it was for the best, that Maxi and Fernando played together really well and that he'd be seeing Maxi often enough what with Ruggeri cranking up the amount of training sessions before South Africa. "God, I miss him already."

Diego's eyes softened, as they did when they first met, and he tousled Kun's hair a bit.

"I know," he said. "I do too. But there's no sense in wallowing, is there?" Kun shook his head. "That's the spirit," Diego nodded. "Now let's go greet the team, eh?"

-

Flores was as eager as him to make amends. He publically apologized for losing his temper and saying things in the heat of the moment and Kun was quick to follow suit. He'd been the one to throw the first (and thankfully only) punch and he was glad he'd _only_ been benched for a month as a result. He added that he still wanted to play more with Athletico and how he was honored (and apprehensive) about being co-captain and Flores (and more importantly: the rest of the team) seemed satisfied with that.

With Maxi's departure, Kun was grimly certain he would be the only Argentine on the team. He had tried to tell himself it wouldn't be so bad, since there was still Diego and all, but it was still a great relief when he discovered Eduardo had been brought in from Lanús. They knew each other from the national team and Eduardo was naturally nervous, this being his first time away from Argentina for so long (even though he was going to be playing in the friendly against Costa Rica so it wasn't like he'd be away for months), so Kun was glad to help. By dint of being two years older than the other, Kun was happy to play older brother to a teammate. Like himself Athlético had placed him in the dormitories, though he was three floors up which explained why they hadn't bumped into each other.

One thing he quickly discovered was that Eduardo was painfully shy. When Kun asked him why he didn't say anything during the December/January practice he blushed red and mumbled he didn't think Kun would be interested, since there was no chance of him making the starting eleven on either squad. All while staring at the ground. Kun was quick to correct him, saying everyone started somewhere and even Maradona had spent a lot of time on the bench in the beginning. Flores overheard this part of their conversation and nodded approvingly, evidently thinking Kun was taking on his co-captaincy duties with pleasure.

With regards to being co-captain -- it was definitely different from what he expected. He remembered Maxi looking beat after their losses, especially during the short stint with Resino as manager, and how he'd come to practice with bags under his eyes some days. It seemed like a lot of responsibility and subsequent stress. But Flores was a lot more confident taking the reins and though he asked Kun and Diego for their inputs at times, squad formation and whatnot, it was asking for their opinions rather than proper advice.

Plus, Diego could be surprisingly eloquent when he put his mind to it. It was up to Kun to pat people on the back and tell them to ease up on the practicing, or to spend a little more time warming up before getting on with bicycle kicks, but at the end of their 4-0 match against Valladolid, it was Diego who took the spotlight, telling them it was a good match, they all played well, but that they needed to keep their guards up and not let their heads swell with victory. It was a long road uphill for them -- though they'd been knocked out of the Champion's League there was still the Europa League and the Copa so they'd need to work hard. Even Kun was moved after hearing it, and Diego had rehearsed a rough draft of it with him the day before!

He flew back to Argentina two weeks later to train with the rest of the team and spectate a friendly against Costa Rica. The friendly was wedged between league matches but because he'd patched things up with Flores, he was allowed to attend. Kun wasn't expecting Leo to come along, since it was harder for him to adjust to jetlag, but there he was, waiting in the lounge in Madrid.

"Leo!" Kun exclaimed, going over to hug him, "What are you doing here?"

"Flying to Buenos Aires, what does it look like?" Leo raised an eyebrow.

"But the matches," Kun protested.

"Pep told me to go," Leo shrugged. "He said the World Cup only comes every four years. Plus, the rest of the squad is taking time off to train with their teams too."

"Are you sure you can handle it?" Kun asked, skeptical. He would never stop being amused at how Leo, who had taught him the best trick yet for dealing with jetlag, couldn't seem to make use of it himself.

"We'll find out. Besides," another shrug, "It's not like we'll be playing."

"That's true." He whipped out his PSP and grinned. "FIFA?"

"FIFA."

-

Flying here and there was as exhausting as expected. Having to switch between forward and defense made it all the worse. But it was worth it, to train with the rest of the team a little more. Ruggeri had thankfully kept the media out and away from their practices, though that didn't stop them from calling him all sorts of names. After the friendly, when they were waiting for the layover in London, Kun caught the tail end of a minute-long segment (in English with Spanish subtitles) on players training for the World Cup. It was specifically asking whether Premier League players like Christiano or Cesc would prioritize their national team or their club. There were no interviews with the players themselves but random fans of Arsenal and ManU were taken off the streets and asked how they felt. Of course they said they would be betrayed if the players chose the nation over the club.

The interviewer conceded that it was normal for fans of the football teams to feel such a way, especially when the World Cup seemed ages away, but for casual fans of the sport -- or just patriots in general -- it made sense to cheer more enthusiastically for the World Cup, which (like Pep had pointed out) only came around once every four years. But then the camera swung back to the anchorwoman, who was a fan of the Red Devils, and she berated the interviewer for his views, arguing that the clubs were the ones putting the players on payroll and they weren't being paid to glorify their nation. Plus, part of the joys of the sport was bonding with people from other nations and really the whole competitive streak at the international level reeked of nationalism best left dead.

And so began a long back-and-forth between the two, with the then-offscreen anchorman jumping in to add his own viewpoint (which was: if it isn't coming home, then sod the whole thing). There was some truth in each of their viewpoints and the whole segment perturbed Kun. Even now, he truly wanted to win with both teams, and it was frustrating how Leo was doing so well at both club and national level yet here he was, floundering on both fronts. He told Leo as much while they were training, but it wasn't like Leo could tell him how to bridge the distance that would always exist between them. That segment made him feel _guilty_ and he hated it. As soon as he was back in Madrid, he swore he would throw himself further into his matches, that he would work up the nerve to give a post-match speech of his own, that he would win a trophy with Athletico because he had already won two with Argentina.

It was not to be. They lost 0-2 to Malaga _and_ he got a yellow card a minute after being subbed in. The speech he had been planning to give slipped away -- it had been something in the vein of Diego's, hedged on their triumph -- and Diego had to take up the mantle once more. It didn't matter that Diego didn't mind; it was part of his responsibilities as co-captain and here he was, shirking them the third week in. Diego was just as busy with his own national team -- he had just as far of a journey, possibly even more as there weren't as many direct flights from Montevideo to Europe and he knew Diego often flew through Buenos Aires instead.

Once again, he was frustrated with his own inabilities. There was a clear line to the goal and he just couldn't seem to walk on it. Likewise, there was a clear line to the World Cup, but when he tried to stand on it, the road turned into a path of fire. The difference between what was expected and what actually _was_ \-- what he knew himself capable of doing and what he actually _did_ \-- began to drive him crazy. All the responsibility which he had shirked for years, always complaining about how people treated him like a kid, well now he wasn't the youngest player on either team and his shoulders were plenty weighted and here he was, all but buckling at the starting line! For both teams!

His lowest point had been their Valentines' Day match. It should have been romantic: the chance to play against one another on the 14th of February. But they had just flown back from Argentina two days prior, having spectated another friendly against Jamaica and training with the team in downtime and the flying was really getting to him. And he couldn't even complain because here was Leo, clearly suffering from jetlag-induced insomnia, with his unfocused gaze and shadowed eyes. And still, Guardiola fielded him the whole ninety-three minutes.

All three goals were scored in the first thirty minutes of the match: Diego scored the first one, then Simao, then the new striker that Leo didn't like, and at the end of overtime (for which Kun was subbed out) the score remained 2-1 in Athletico's favor. He should have been happy, he should have been ecstatic even. But he was disappointed that he wasn't able to score _and_ the speech he'd prepared this time was in anticipation of a draw or a loss.

One glance at Leo said they wouldn't be meeting one another after the match and Kun was filled with anguish at the unfairness of it all. Only later would he find out that this match -- their second Valentines' Day date -- was the only league match Barcelona would lose for the whole 2009-10 season. And Leo had played like a dream; it was just the tension between the new #9 and the rest of the team that was tripping them up. At the moment he wished Leo would let him have this victory. The truly vicious matches were the Madrid derbies and they had yet to win a single one -- home or away -- since Kun's tenure. So he had to content himself with beating Barcelona.

He went out for drinks with the rest of the team because he was still co-captain even if he had yet to give a speech or score a meaningful goal and stumbled back to the dormitories in a foul mood despite their win. He felt like he was running in quicksand: making large strenuous strides but only managing to sink deeper into the quagmire of his own creation. He must have been slightly tipsy too; it was the only reason why he called his mother. It was 23:34 in Spain which meant it was 18:34 in Argentina. It was summer there, making it early afternoon. As he closed his eyes, caught between wanting his mother to pick up and hoping she was preoccupied so he wouldn't have to talk, he could imagine the sun, still hung in the middle of the cloudless sky.

"Sergio?" his mother asked, picking up on the fourth ring.

"Mom," he said. Only that.

"Sergio, sweetheart," her tone immediately softened, "What's wrong? Talk to me."

He was twenty-one years old and making more money than both his parents combined. He had been away from home since the age of eighteen and his name was now recognizable across continents. And still, when he was talking with his mother, he felt like a boy. All the anxiety and frustration spilled forth -- the demons that had been festering inside him for months. He talked and he talked, about how he should be grateful and humble and loving and kind because the world had given him so much and here he was feeling bitter and useless and unloved despite it all. His mother listened, giving a thoughtful hum every now and then to show she was still on the line.

At the end of it, when he had poured his heart and soul out, he stopped, because it didn't seem there was anything else to say. He stopped and he waited for his mother to say something. To scold him like she had when he was ten years old and crying because Yesica had gotten the strawberry on his birthday cake. But she kept silent and he grew anxious.

At last, he spoke again.

"I don't know what to do, Ma," he sighed. "It used to be so clear -- but now I don't know."

She surprised him a second time with her question. He had truly expected her usual unusable advice of quitting the sport early and going back to school because (A) he'd made enough to last several lifetimes and (B) if he didn't love it in exactly the same way as he did at age fifteen then what was the point in continuing?

But instead she asked: "When was the last time you've gone to Mass?"

And Kun was understandably caught off-guard.

"Um," he started, wracking his brain. "...Christmas?"

"And Confession?"

"I don't know." That one he really couldn't remember. Probably the last time his grandparents took him to church for New Year's so... "Maybe two or three years ago?"

"I strayed from the church for an even longer time," his mother told him, "But God brought me back."

"You think I should go?" Kun asked. He hadn't really thought about it -- had never _been_ to church in Spain, on that note -- but now that his mother had placed the idea in his head, it started looking more attractive.

"Sergio," his mother sighed, "You're twenty-one years old. I haven't been able to give you advice for a long, long time. Go if you're called, stay if you're not." She repeated the same words she'd told him while he fretted at age fourteen over not being in the roster at Independiente. It was simultaneously exasperating and reassuring, that his parents' life philosophies remained the same.

"How will I know when I'm called?" Kun blurted out. "It's not like waiting on the bench, Ma. No one's going to tell me when I'm supposed to go up."

"Your heart will tell you. You've got a good heart. You should listen to it more often."

And now they were back to the unusable advice.

Kun laughed.

"Okay, mom," he said, "I'll try."

"You do that," she smiled, "And come home when you feel the time is right, you hear? There's always rice and meat for you here. We can put you to work in the garden and maybe you and Leo can go to UBU together..." she trailed off, voice practically dreamy as she spoke of impossible things. They weren't strictly speaking impossible but Kun's mind was still filled with the prospect of that third star.

"Okay, mom," he said again, "I get it, I do. Thanks, really." She told him it was nothing and that he was always welcome and that he would always be her baby boy, twenty-one years old or no, and then they traded I love you's and good night's (though it was more like have a good time preparing dinner for her) before Kun hung up the phone.

It was 23:55 then and he flopped into bed, overwhelmed with exhaustion. For the first time in a long time, he prayed, giving thanks not just for the winning game but for family, friends, life, Leo, and football. He went to sleep content and promised himself he'd go to church first thing the next morning.

-

There was something about rote and ritual, especially that which had been drilled into him as a child, which comforted him. Comforted him when all else failed. After taking his mother's suggestion, it was like a veil had been lifted and he was able to see the world in its natural glory once more. He lit three candles: one for Emiliano, one for the unnamed child, and one for Maradona and he said prayers for each of them.

By chance, he bumped into Diego walking back. It turned out he was en route to the middle school Maxi had volunteered at, having taken up their friend's mantels in this regard as well. Kun was extremely offended Maxi hadn't even thought to ask him -- especially as _he_ was the one who had tagged along, not Diego -- but Diego said he wasn't really good with kids so Kun invited himself along.

Volunteering at the middle school had always been a private pleasure. It wasn't about spotting the next superstar or passing down his knowledge so much as it was about giving back and in turn becoming part of the community which had supported him and the rest of the team for so long. Even though Athletico had long since expanded its sphere of recruitment (he was the poster child in this regard), Vicente Calderon was still a central landmark in their district and it was humbling to remember they were a part of a much larger picture. That the football they bled for was two hours of entertainment per week (if that) for the rest of the nation. And that it was an honor and a joy to have so many fans who looked at him starry-eyed and asked to shake his hand or pose for a photograph and gave him great buck-toothed grins.

Diego was more like Leo in that regard: while he understood most people played football for fun, actually having to deal with hobbyists put a wrench in his worldview. For Diego (much like his namesake), football was fun because winning was fun. He subsequently couldn't understand why the kids might scrunch up their faces or outright laugh when he put forth _his_ childhood training routine. Kun shook his head, quickly stepping in and pairing the children off for dribbling practice, before hissing to Diego that he need to tone it down a notch.

They practiced with the kids until sundown, then it was rounding them up and giving each of them high-fives. Some of their parents picked them up, but most of them lived close enough to walk home. They were really sweet kids, Kun thought, even if they were rough with each other. They even called him 'teacher' -- Maxi's old title. Now Diego had been relegated to 'helper' and he was not amused.

-

As there were direct flights from both Barcelona and Madrid to Munich -- the site of their March friendly against the Germans -- Kun flew out with Eduardo (still as jumpy as a mouse around him), Eze, Pipita, and Gabriel (the Real Madrid one of course; on that note, it was funny how both Gabriels were defenders) two days before the match. With him playing as a defender on the national team, he remarked it was like half of defense was traveling together with poor Pipita and Eduaro as the odd men out. Eze cracked up at that and even Eduardo managed a bashful smile.

Like most flights within the continent, the Madrid to Munich flight was short and uneventful. The five of them were whisked from the airport to their accommodation, bunker-like dormitories built a stone's throw away from the stadium. There were the obligatory bauhaus jokes, what with the surrounding architecture, and Kun was reminded of Julio -- of his Germanic ancestry and three semesters of high school German -- and he fiddled with his earring in reminiscence.

Leo was waiting for them in the dorm lobby along with Gabriel, Maxi, Javier, Pablo, Carlos, and Angel, all of whom had arrived the day before. Martín had showed them around, having played on Bayern since 2004.

Kun was somewhat apprehensive to see Leo; their texting had become sporadic early on in the year and they hadn't exchanged anything even before their club match. He figured Leo couldn't be too angry, considering they were still rooming together, and his hunch proved right as Leo practically ran to hug him. It was clear from the force of his embrace that their Valentines' Day match now blood under the bridge, and Kun was all too happy to make up. There was cheering and wolf whistling and gagging and eye rolling from their teammates even though they broke apart soon enough. Kun didn't even get the chance to kiss him! And then there were hugs and kisses all around, even though they'd last seen each other (meaning the rest of the team) in Mar del Plata it felt like ages ago.

It was proof then of how close they'd gotten as a team and Kun swore he saw something that looked like a smile work its way across Ruggeri's face before it was quickly dampened by his usual almost-frown and he clapped his hands to command their attention. Half the starting squad for the match was already assembled and it was three months before the start of the World Cup. They had only two more friendlies lined up in the interim: both in May, first against Haiti and then against Canada. Kun was reminded of Diego's speech when Ruggeri instructed them to stay focused and above all, wary. They could take nothing for granted, least of all victory.

-

As soon as the door closed behind them, Leo wrapped him into another hug, a more vehement one than the first.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against Kun's hair.

"It's fine," Kun answered, looping his arms about Leo's shoulder and squeezing tight. It was absurd how much he could miss someone. And he would always miss _this_. "I know," he added. "And I'm sorry too."

Leo shifted. It felt like he was twisting his head to look at Kun, since he loosened his hold a bit. But as he refused to let go entirely, the motion only wedged him more firmly in the crook of Kun's neck.

"What do you mean?" Leo asked. Kun shuddered, he couldn't help himself, not when Leo seemed to be breathing right up against his skin. Even with his t-shirt between them, he could feel every breath. It was like his nerves had been set aflame.

"...What?" It took him a while to snap out of it. To remember they were here for a friendly and they wouldn't be doing anything _more_ for at least another year.

"What do you mean you're sorry too?" Leo repeated. "What do you have to be sorry for? Outplaying me?"

"As if," Kun scoffed. He felt Leo give a small hum of approval. "I'll take my one percent when I can get it, thank you very much."

"Ten percent."

"Okay, ten percent." He stepped back and after a moment's hesitation, Leo let him go. Kun smiled, happy to be near him, happy they had made up again, and he reached between them to take Leo's hands. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out first," he said.

"That's fine," Leo reassured him, cheeks coloring, "I was pretty pissed off at the loss. I probably would've ignored you. Or screamed at you."

"Like I didn't do the same?" Kun rolled his eyes.

"That's different." Leo looked down at their interlocked hands and Kun followed his gaze. Then, very carefully, Leo shifted his hold so that he held onto Kun's fingers. So that his thumb could run across the front of the ring. Their engagement ring. "I shouldn't have been angry in the first place," he murmured, still continuing his back-and-forth motion. It couldn't have been more than two centimeters, but it was like he was tracing circles against Kun's skin.

"That's fine too," Kun retorted, "You already bottle it up too much. I'm glad you can let a bit of it out with me."

Leo paused in his ministrations, looking up.

"What do you mean?" he asked again.

"Like... during the interviews. The press conferences. You're so detached and polite," Kun grimaced. "I know it's necessary and if I didn't know you I'd think it was cool, but..."

"Yeah," Leo nodded, "It's necessary." He licked his lips and added: "When you come over, they'll teach you the same tactics."

"Does everyone in Barcelona get interviewed as often?"

"No, but it's good to be prepared. You never know when the reporters will try to throw you underneath the bus."

"Great," Kun sighed, rolling his eyes, "Then we can be fake and creepy together."

Leo pulled his hands away and reached up to tug at Kun's earring. "You promised," he said, and there was something like a pout on his lips.

Kun quickly looked the other way but it was too late: he could feel his cheeks heating up.

"I did," he conceded, "And I'll come. Even if it's all press conferences and no games."

"Oh there will be football," Leo reassured him, "You'll play a lot more than you do now." Because Barcelona got a lot farther in tournaments, on the whole.

"Still," Kun pressed, because Leo was always the one baring his heart and he felt obliged to match it, "I would go. And you know why?" he looked back at Leo, and then slowly closed the distance, kissing Leo on the cheek, "Because I miss you and I'm tired of missing you."

When he made to pull back, Leo's arm darted out, first pulling him into a hug, then pushing him away slightly so Kun could have his face be cradled. He valiantly tried to get his racing heart under control, telling himself Leo had held off kissing him on their anniversary date so there was no way -- _no way_ \-- they were going to kiss now, but it didn't quash the shrill strand of hope. Not completely.

Leo, for his part, didn't kiss him. He just looked into Kun's eyes while his own grew dark. Kun was dimly aware of Leo's thumbs, tracing hallf-circles against his cheekbones.

"I love you so much," Leo murmured, "So, so, so much."

Then he took one hand away and the other slid down to rest on Kun's shoulder and he leaned in and kissed Kun on the cheek as well. They broke apart, even though Leo's hand remained on his shoulder, and they were both flushed and out of breath, even though, like usual, nothing had actually happened. Well, nothing new. And Kun wasn't even disappointed; that was just how bad he had it.

"I love you too," he readily answered, "I love you to the moon and back."


	23. Unless it's been somehow elusive

Chapter 23  
 **Unless it's been somehow elusive**

The friendly against Germany ended up being Kun's debut match as a defender. The Germans had been warned in advance courtesy of Martin acting per Ruggeri's request. Leo didn't understand it at first for what was the point of keeping out of the limelight if they were telling their opponents about the most surprising feature two weeks before the match?

It turned out Ruggeri was more concerned about the media. Although sixty-five thousand people watched the match, Kun wasn't famous in Germany. All eyes were on him and, after his goal in the first minute of the second half, Pipita. Maybe Martin too, since this was his home field. And because the Germans weren't caught off-guard with Ruggeri's substitution of Martin for Kun in the middle of the second half, the media didn't narrow in on it. Kun was just another unremarkable foreigner in their eyes and even though Argentina won, the papers would say it was because of the teamwork between himself, Pipita, and Carlos. It was a 1-0 win, nothing spectacular, a lot of the press shrugged it off since it was only a friendly in the end.

Géri had made it a point to watch the match and he was suitably impressed with Kun's progress. Leo relayed this to Kun via text and Kun predictably passed on his own congratulations for the Spanish team's win against France. Geri was all sparkles then, because it hadn't occurred to him that other players might watch his matches, and there was more teasing about the impending marriage. Which had suddenly become a public secret and Leo didn't know who to blame.

Meanwhile Cesc was dead-set on meeting and beating them in the World Cup because of his (or rather Arsenal's) crushing defeat in the quarterfinals of the Champion's League. Leo was vaguely aware of problems in his friend's club -- but as Zlatan had all but exploded at Pep in the locker room and was now benched for the rest of the season and no one would give him the time of day, he didn't think it would affect gameplay as much as it did. He had no idea what was going on with Arsenal but Cesc was subbed out before the second half of the first game and not even on the _bench_ for the second. If you asked Leo, Cesc shouldn't even call the second match a loss. For one, he hadn't been playing, and for another, the team's defense was all over the place. It was the only explanation for how they conceded four (four!!) goals to him. Regardless, Cesc still considered it a loss and he vowed revenge at the World Cup and Geri lamented at his childishness and the chance of bringing Cesc back to Barcelona seemed slimmer than ever.

Both of them ended up missing the friendly against Haiti. Kun was training with Athletico for the Europa League finals while Leo had a publicity event with the rest of the club. Argentina still won 4-0, even without their moral support, and they traded congratulations with the rest of the team.

As for Barcelona, even though they won the League, 2010 was a disappointing season overall. Winning the League didn't have the glamour from the year before because they still longed for a treble and couldn't even pull off a double this time around. Plus, what with that maddening 1-2 loss to Athletico (which had single-handedly ruined both their winning streak and Leo's plans for Valentines' Day), they couldn't even say they had never lost a match!

To make matters worse, Barcelona had been eliminated in the semifinals of the Champion's League once again, this time losing to Inter 3-2. Leo wondered if it was a curse, if they were doomed to be stuck, practically idling, at the semifinal stage of the tournament. Pep, like Kun, was of the opinion they should take comfort since it was likely Inter would beat Bayern in the finals, but Leo just wanted to _win_.

It was even more disasterous where the Copa was concerned. They had been knocked out in the round of sixteen -- so, back in _January_ \-- to Sevilla, of all teams. Sevilla, who they had handily beat in both match-ups during the league proper. Sevilla, who would go on to play in the finals against Athletico and inch past them to claim the title. Even though he knew Kun was crushed by the loss, he didn't think it was that much of a surprise considering Sevilla had won their match-up two weeks prior. Plus, Athletico had beat Fulham for the Europa League the week before which, though second in place to the Champion's, was still another title.

-

"What are you still doing here?" Kun asked him as they met in the airport lounge.

"Waiting for you, of course," Leo answered. He gestured to the empty armchair next to him and Kun flopped down on it.

"How sweet," Kun smiled at that, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he'd been crying the night before. "Thanks," he added, reaching over so they could hold hands.

"It was a good game," Leo told him. Kun's nostrils flared and his grip on Leo's hand tightened momentarily, before he forced himself to relax. He didn't say anything, which made Leo continue with: "If it's any consolation, we lost to them to."

Kun bit his bottom lip and looked away.

"Can we not talk about it? Not here, not right now?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course," Leo immediately answered. "Of course," he repeated. He squeezed Kun's hand reassuringly, "Tell me about your family. Did you know Lucas made it onto the youth squad for Central?" he made a face, "I mean, it's Central and all, but it's a youth squad."

Kun turned back at him with wide eyes. Though he wasn't from Rosario, he knew the big rivalries. Every Argentinian probably knew them, even the ones that didn't watch football.

"Central?" he repeated, brows furrowing with disbelief, "Your brother let him play for Rosario Central?"

"Well considering the extenuating circumstances..." Leo started, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. Kun's expression immediately melted into understanding.

"Oh," he said, "Right." He ducked his head, "Sorry about that." He squeezed Leo's hand and Leo felt the warm metal of the ring. "I forgot about that. Sorry."

"It's not your fault. And besides," Leo grinned, "Pa is certain if we win the Cup they'll come crawling back."

"Oh boy," Kun sighed, "I guess we have to win the Cup then."

"Yup," Leo nodded, as if it were so simple. "We're going to have to win the Cup." At the same time they turned to look at one another. Their expressions were entirely serious -- for a second. Then they cracked up laughing and needed to be hushed by the attendant. Or rather, Leo quickly quieted down and elbowed Kun (snatching his hand back in the process) because he was certain the attendant was coming to tell them to quiet down. But she was actually informing them that their flight to Buenos Aires -- because Aerolineas had finally started running daily instead of weekly flights to and from Madrid -- was boarding and would they please head to the gate.

A thought occurred to Leo as they were settling themselves on the plane. See, the rest of their teammates -- Gabriel included -- had headed back as soon as the season ended. But Kun wasn't the only member of the national team on Athletico, even after Maxi's departure.

"Where's Eduardo?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Kun gave a nervous laugh, "He headed back at the end of the league too."

"He didn't watch the final?"

"No, Flores didn't have him on the roster. And..." Kun trailed off, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"And?"

"And he kind of figured we'd be traveling together, even though I told him we wouldn't. But I guess he was right, huh?"

"You were playing at Camp Nou," Leo groused, "Did you really think I would miss -- " he stopped himself, snapping his mouth shut. "Sorry."

Kun blinked rapidly and swallowed. "No, it's fine. I just... I don't want to think about that match right now." He reached between them to clasp their hands again. "I'm glad you're here though," he added, "Thanks for waiting for me."

"Always," Leo promised him, twining their fingers and pressing a quick kiss to his brow. "Sleep now," he urged him, "You look like you could use it." Kun fell asleep against his shoulder, too tired to even eat his meal, and after the plane reached cruising altitude, Leo extricated his hand so he could adjust Kun's seat, letting him sleep at a more comfortable angle. Then he made quick work of his own meal before falling asleep as well.

-

Owing to the time difference, despite the thirteen hour flight, it was still Thursday when they arrived in Argentina. There was a car waiting for them in the airport and they were driven directly to the training camp. It was the same camp they had first met in. There would be a friendly in four days against Canada (who hadn't qualified for the World Cup) and then they'd be flying out to South Africa in a little over two weeks. Now that the season was over, there was an unspoken agreement that the World Cup would be the sun around which they would revolve, at least until it was over.

This meant no going back to visit relatives, no alcohol or caffeine, and certainly no sex. It was a wonder they managed to find the time for FIFA, what with the schedule Ruggeri had rolled out.

It was a grand coincidence that the dorms they were supposed to be staying in -- the ones with upgraded facilities -- were in the middle of renovation. Which meant it was back to the bunks. The two of them were given the same exact room they'd share during the U20 training camp -- the one Leo had initially shared with Oscar. They had just had dinner with the rest of the team and were the last ones to arrive. The usual jokes were made, especially when Leo opted to sleep early and Kun followed suit.

"Wow," Kun exclaimed as he threw himself on the bottom bunk, "This takes you back, doesn't it?"

"Don't make it sound like it was so long ago," Leo replied, even as he set down his bags and climbed up to the top bunk. Even the sheets were the same shade of the light blue, though at least the railing had been secured.

"But it was so long ago," Kun insisted. "Practically five years ago."

"No it wasn't. You turned seventeen five days after we met."

"Close enough," Kun laughed, "You and your memory, seriously."

Kun was right though. It had been nearly five years. Leo couldn't believe it, how quickly they'd flown by. Some things hadn't changed: he was still in Barcelona. They were still playing football. They were both on the national team. But other things had. Things he wouldn't even have _dreamt_ of at eighteen years old.

Leo pulled out his PSP and contented himself with some offline CPU matches while Kun hummed along to his iPod playlist. When Ruggeri's aide was walking around announcing light's out, Kun had been silent for some time and Leo assumed he had fallen asleep. Right as he was swinging over the railing to turn off the lights, Kun turned to face him.

"Let me," he said, lightly batting Leo's hand away.

Leo swung himself back onto his bunk while Kun turned off the lights. In the darkness, he felt his eyelids growing heavy. Right as he was about to drift off, Kun spoke.

"Leo?" he asked. As if they were newly-acquainted teammates all over again.

"Hmm?" Leo answered, blinking rapidly to stay awake.

"If you could pick," he started, "Between winning the League and winning the World Cup -- "

"I'd pick the World Cup," Leo answered without hesitation.

"The Copa?"

"The World Cup."

"The Champion's League?"

"Same thing."

"Every Clásico from here on out?"

"Still the same."

"I really hate you," Kun grumbled. Leo heard him turn.

"Because I want the same thing you do?" Leo asked.

"No. Because even though you think like that, you can still play for Barcelona so well. I mean, you scored four goals in the match against Arsenal."

"It's different. And I don't mean I'm a better player. But I'm playing the same position with both teams. I can't imagine juggling between defense and striking. Geri's still amazed you're managing at all."

"But that's the point," Kun ground out, "I'm only _just_ managing."

"But it's because of defence that we didn't let the Germans score a single goal." Leo sighed, "I get in these arguments with Cesc and Geri too often. About what's more important on a team."

"Both are important," Kun protested.

"Yeah. They are. But when it comes to the World Cup, I think Geri's right. I think Ruggeri's right."

Kun huffed. "Is there anything you wouldn't give up to win the World Cup?" he asked.

"You."

Kun gave a grunt of frustration, kicking the top bunk. "Asshole," he grumbled, "How the hell am I supposed to sleep after you tell me that?"

"No clue," Leo answered, grinning even though he knew Kun couldn't see him. "Good night!"

"Asshole." A pause. And then -- "Night."

-

Kun didn't open up about the Copa Final until Monday, when they were playing a friendly against Canada. It would be the team's last match before the World Cup and Ruggeri's pre-game talk had consisted of sticking to tried and true and not disrespecting their opponents.

Leo hadn't been called up to play and so he watched from the sidelines. He realized it was the first time he'd seen Kun play defense for a whole match and in watching him -- because even while playing defense, his eyes were still drawn to Kun -- he understood what Geri meant when he seriously suggested taking Kun as a defender for Barcelona as well. All the playful finesse which he exhibited as a striker had been converted to stealing the ball and passing to mid; Leo knew the struggle that had gone on behind the scenes, but watching Kun play, it seemed like he had been playing defense from the get-go; it was just how effortless Kun managed to make it look.

He was enraptured despite himself.

Then the game ended, 4-0, and he ran out to the pitch and Kun ran to meet him and they hugged while the rest of the team whooped and hollered because a win was a win was a win. Ruggeri pulled them apart and smacked them lightly upside of the head, telling them to be professional and line up and for Kun to put his damn shirt back on but there was pride in his tone. And why wouldn't there be? He had taken an uncountable number of risks with the team but they had pulled through together and Leo was certain Maradona was smiling down on him. Assuming he wasn't playing football himself among the clouds.

Kun waited until after dinner, after they had returned to their room, before speaking. Well, he didn't speak at first, just threw his arms around Leo, hugging him from the back. Leo startled at the sudden gesture, almost losing his balance. He was quick to right himself and quicker still to return the embrace, looping his arms upward so that his hands rested against Kun's.

"Leo," Kun sighed, as he pushed his forehead against the back of Leo's neck.

He made a questioning noise as he stroked Kun's knuckles. Kun had taken off his ring for the match and had yet to put it back on. Leo stared at their contrasting skintones and wondered if he was imagining things when he saw a light band of less-tanned skin where the ring had been.

"I was so scared," Kun confessed. "So so so scared."

"Scared?" Leo paused, "What were you scared for?"

"So many things," Kun answered, drawing a shaky breath. As he did so, Leo ducked out from underneath, turning around as soon as he could so that they were facing one another.

"Is this about the Copa?" he asked. He had wanted to press Kun about it in the days before but Kun was too good at avoiding the subject, distracting Leo with new cumbia songs or vacation spots or general FIFA trashtalk. And then Inter had beat out Bayern for the Champion's League which meant Barcelona only ever lost to the champions both times which should have made him feel better but didn't. More importantly, it meant Martín would be coming back, the last of the team to arrive. "What happened then?"

"It's not just the Copa," Kun said, "But the Copa is part of it. It's just -- " Kun leaned forward, clutching at the front of Leo's shirt and Leo instantly put his arms around him, "I feel like I've been playing so bad. I know I've been playing poorly. And like you said, if it's for the World Cup, then it's fine, it'll be worth it, but I don't know if I can manage that, even!"

"It happens," Leo reassured him. "It happens to all of us." He couldn't imagine how difficult it was for Kun though, playing two positions on top of being co-captain.

"But the final -- " Kun insisted, "I had so many chances, and while I was playing I thought -- at least once -- or if not me, then Diego -- but then..." his shoulders shook as he sobbed and Leo held him all the tighter. He didn't say anything more after that, only crying into Leo's shirt.

Eventually, the worst of it was over and Leo maneuvered them so that he was seated on Kun's bunk. Kun pulled away from him then, flopping down beside him, and Leo quickly went to take the tissues from the bathroom.

"Sorry," Kun mumbled as he took the proffered tissues. He blew his nose and then pushed himself up.

"Don't be," Leo said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "If anything, I should be apologizing." When Kun tilted his head in unspoken question, he clarified: "All this time spent together and now my bad habits are rubbing off on you. The Kun from 2005 would've never cried over one lousy match, least of all to Sevilla."

Kun laughed at that.

"The Kun of 2005 would've never missed so many shots," he retorted.

"True. And he wouldn't be playing La Liga at all."

"I know it shouldn't bother me," Kun sighed, grabbing another wad of tissues and wiping his face, "But it does. I close my eyes and I think of all the times I misplayed. And it was at your home stadium to boot." He laughed self-deprecatingly, "I can't imagine Guardiola will want me after a show like that."

"Now you're being absurd," Leo tsk'ed, "Pep's a player himself, you forget. Even he had bad matches."

"I guess I'm just scared the sacrifices won't matter. That... I don't know... we're infringing on something deeper."

That comment flew over Leo's head entirely.

He frowned. "What? Come again?"

To which Kun heaved another sigh and explained: "It's like, Yesica was telling me about opportunity costs and how you always have to give something up to get something. So, I don't know, I worry that... whatever I'm going to get because of losing the Copa isn't going to be worth it."

"First, that's not how opportunity cost works," Leo interjected, "And second, you're still holding on to _my_ bad habits. Stop thinking about the match. We just won against Canada and we're going to be playing Nigeria in three weeks."

"Nigeria?" Kun repeated, " _Again_?"

"Think how they must feel," Leo laughed. "But, you know, it's like Pep told me: you have to put the past matches out of your mind. Each chance to play is an honor in itself and someday," he swallowed, thinking too far into the future, "There won't be any more matches at all."

"Because the sun will explode and all life will cease to exist?" Kun brightly concluded.

"Or we'll be too old to play football."

"Right. That too," Kun laughed, leaning over to throw his arms around Leo, "Thank you boludo," he said, burrowing his head in Leo's shoulder, "Of all the things I'm thankful for -- well -- I'm most thankful for you." Then he pulled away and his cheeks were red and Leo was certain he was similarly flushed.

"Me too," he said, quickly kissing Kun's cheek again. Then he stood up and scrambled to his bunk, lest they violate Ruggeri's golden law before the start of the tournament and Kun laughed again, a warm and happy sound. The rest of the night was filled with cumbia, old songs, the same songs they had sung before the start of the U20.

-

On the Friday following their friendly against Canada, they received a dozen official match balls to practice with. These were state-of-the-art footballs, specially made for the 2010 World Cup.

Everyone hated them. The name was stupid, none of their three goalies could get a good grip on the balls, and the worst was when it curved wildly when flying through the air. Leo wouldn't have believed it possible if he hadn't kicked the ball himself. Ruggeri frowned and said that couldn't be right; he tossed a second ball over and had Leo try again. And again, the ball curved -- this time to the right -- when it was twenty meters away.

It was reassuring to know Geri and Cesc were having similar problems -- Kun told him Diego told _him_ the Uruguayans were seriously considering painting one of their own balls to look like the new one and for a couple days there was serious discussion from Ruggeri and his aides. It turned out to be a logistical nightmare and, if they were caught, it would be cheating of the highest order. So they were instructed to grit their teeth and bear with it. It was just part of playing at the World Cup. To quote Javi, if the matches were all played with a slippery unpredictable ball that moved through the air like God himself was blowing from the east then so be it. But it didn't mean they stopped complaining about it.

The day before their chartered flight to South Africa (where many black jokes were exchanged about the possibility of a plane crash and hey, it had happened to other national teams too -- there followed a lot of knocking on wood and, in the Gabriels' cases, knocking of heads together), Ruggeri gathered them in front of a television right after dinner. For the first time since his initial ascension, he spoke of Maradona and of the national team during the World Cup in '86. Though he had always liked Ruggeri's speeches, all given in his signature Cordoban drawl, this was the first one that moved him to tears.

Then Ruggeri turned on the television and ordered the lights turned off and the twenty-three of them watched as one as the team twenty-four years prior had won Argentina her second star. Leo hadn't been born yet; neither had Kun, and of those that had been born, only the two Gabriels and Martin could actually remember the moment.

 _This could be us_ , his conscience whispered as the match ended and the Estadio Azteca was filled with albiceleste. _This could be us._

Even when the match was over and they were all sufficiently humbled, Ruggeri still had more to say. He talked of the difficulties the national team experienced then, how it wasn't just the Falkland Islands or the Dirty War, but basic cruelly pointless political maneuvers. The problems that existed in 1986 were still present. _And_ the nation was still reeling from the loss of Maradona, who was now immortalized at twenty-five years old, cheering while hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates. The World Cup this time was about new potential. It was about stealing the mantel from the older generation. Their triumph would prove they, as players and as _people_ , no longer needed the Hand of God for victory.

He had always known Ruggeri wanted them to win. Hell, it was one of the reasons he liked the other. But to hear it spelled out so was nonetheless shocking -- Leo supposed it stemmed from his own reluctance to give voice to his dreams.

Kun turned to him only when Ruggeri dismissed them. His eyes were just as wet. He pursed his lips, blinking quickly, and Leo felt something catch in his throat. Then he stood up and Kun followed and they made their way back to their shared room. It was the first time they didn't talk, not during washing up nor after lights out.

As he slept, he dreamt of Maradona at age twenty-five, dribbling past angels with clouds beneath his feet. It was so absurd, the sheer clarity of the dream made him laugh and he woke up with a smile on his face.

-

Owing to the eleven hour flight -- direct only because it was a private charter -- and the five hour time difference (the same time difference between Argentina and Spain, in fact), it was already the early hours of the fifth when they arrived in Johannesburg. Leo had wished Kun happy birthday the morning of and Kun had called his family right before the plane took off, but he still felt it was a bit lacking, that there was no cake or birthday song.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who felt this way. As soon as they were settled into their accommodation -- a massive villa that was an hour's drive from the city center which boasted fifteen bedrooms, an indoor pool, and of course a full-sized football field -- Ruggeri announced they would be celebrating Kun's birthday at lunch. Said birthday boy flushed and flustered and insisted there was no need. Then Javier burst out there had better be a song and dance for _his_ birthday and Kun acquiesced. They shuffled to their assigned rooms, having gotten the first two days off to settle in.

When Leo woke up, it was 12:24PM, local time, and his cellphone had been vibrating incessantly. There was a torrent of texts, all from his mother, to greet him. He scrolled through them, glancing quickly to see that Kun was still asleep.

As it turned out, his cellphone had taken its sweet time sending, no doubt confused with the sudden shift in geography, so that his mother received his _landed in SA all is well_ message five hours after he clicked send. She sent him a dozen increasingly worried texts before finally calling Kun's mother. And then Mrs. Aguero had reassured his mother they had all landed safely and only then did she receive Leo's initial text. He read through the last pair of messages: _just got your text glad to hear all is well good luck training give my love to sergio and see you soon!!!_ with half a dozen hearts tacked on the end.

"What are you smiling at?" Kun asked. Leo looked up to see the other had stuck his head out of the sheets.

"Texts from my mom," Leo answered.

"Oh," Kun yawned, "Tell her I said hi."

"She already told me to give you her love," Leo rolled his eyes, "But I'll tell her you said hi."

Kun gave another great yawn before turning to the other side.

Leo was in the middle of writing a response to his mother (reiterating how the team would be staying in a facility a ways away from the site of the matches and he had booked his family a five star hotel at each of their playing sites and to please stay at the hotel and not wander the streets) when there was a knocking at their door.

Kun groaned but made no move to get up.

"Who is it?" Leo asked, still typing away.

"It's me!" Eze answered. He knocked again, "Open the door, will you?" There was hushed murmuring and giggling which meant Eze hadn't come alone.

"Open the damn door," Kun muttered before smothering himself with a pillow.

"Coming," Leo said, quickly hitting send and hoping this message would arrive in a timely fashion before going to the door. He was greeted with Eze, Pocho, Pipita, and Angel.

"Morning," Angel greeted.

"Sleep well?" Pocho added. He slipped into the room and made a grand show of looking around, "And where is the birthday boy this fine day?"

"The birthday boy wants to sleep more," Leo answered.

"Well too bad for him," Pipita laughed, "Ruggeri wants him in the dining room, stat."

"Yo, Kun," Pocho called, grabbing the pillow Kun had buried his face beneath, "Wakey, wakey!"

"Is he naked under there?" Pipita asked.

Leo colored.

"How would I -- " he started, except then Eze casually lifted the sheets and Kun gave a hiss of displeasure.

"Nope!" Eze reported back as Kun curled in on himself.

"Um," Leo started, "I really think he wants to sleep..."

"Yeah, so did we," Pocho retorted, grabbing Kun's left arm and pulling. "C'mon Kun, the sooner you get your ass over there, the sooner you can get back into bed!"

Kun cracked his eyes open, squinting at the five of them.

"Whelp," Eze clapped his hands together, "He's awake!"

"Yeah, but Ruggeri wanted us to bring him to the cafeteria," Pipita reminded him.

"Right."

"Um," Leo tried again as he watched Pocho drag Kun out of bed while Eze and Pipita pushed him out the door. He quickly grabbed a bathrobe from the closet before dashing out after them, hurriedly draping it over Kun's shoulders so he wouldn't be walking downstairs in his boxers. They'd been reassured the papparazzi wouldn't be allowed near the teams' villas, but at the same time, it never hurt to be safe.

"Thanks," Kun said, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He gave Leo a sappy smile and Pocho made a gagging noise.

"Come on, come on," Eze urged, "Before the cake melts!"

The six of them proceeded down the stairs and were greeted with the sight of the dining room decked out in flowers and balloons. The rest of the team was waiting for them, with Ruggeri at the center, and there was a great cheer when they came down.

"Happy birthday Sergio," Ruggeri said. He extended his hand and Kun took it, shaking numbly, before Javier turned their attention to the cake. This cake was red and white like the rest of the decorations, presumably a nod to Independiente and Athletico. _Happy 22nd Birthday KUN_ was written in cursive at the top.

Kun grinned from ear-to-ear and the sight of it made Leo smile too. Then he was joining in on the happy birthday song even though they were a day late and Ruggeri's aides were snapping photographs left and right and Kun was giving him the first slice of cake -- like usual -- and then divvying it up for the rest of the team. This time there was more than enough cake left over for the birthday boy himself and the twenty-three of them (plus Ruggeri, his aides, and various other assistants and coaches) sat around eating their share.

Leo was surprised when Ruggeri was the first to leave, yawning politely behind his hand before excusing himself. One of the aides revealed he'd slept for maybe two hours on the flight so the two days' break was as much for them as it was for him. Then he was stalking out of the shadows and grabbing said aide by the collar and they all laughed at that.

They spent some time talking about South Africa. It was a really surprising place to have a World Cup, (though to be fair the last Club World Cup was in the UAE and they had never qualified for the World Cup proper) and no one had really been there before. As expected there were a lot more blacks than in Argentina or Spain and because it was in the South Hemisphere as well, it was the middle of winter. Granted, the middle of winter in South Africa was still hot, but apparently the summer was even worse.

Kun was already nodding off at this point and Leo elbowed him, urging him to finish his slice of cake before he fell asleep on it. Kun did as told (the eternal brat rolled his eyes and said 'yes Pa' before doing so) and when he had finished, Leo excused the both of them. Pablo shot him a warning look while Pocho waggled his eyebrows but Leo was beyond caring at that point, especially since Kun looked moments away from passing out.

As expected, Kun needed help getting up the stairs. As soon as they made it past the door he collapsed back into bed, bathroom and all. Leo closed the door behind them, and sighed -- more affectionate than exasperated, since he was the birthday boy and all. Then he pulled the covers over Kun and went to his own bed.

His mother had since replied to his text. She was annoyed and offended at his implications that (1) they didn't know to be cautious in foreign countries and (2) that they might impede on his practice. So he had to text back, reassuring her he meant no offense and he was just worried because it wasn't like they had a tour guide like in China. With his suitably apologetic text sent, he shoved his phone back under the pillow and played FIFA until dinner was announced.

-

They celebrated Javi's birthday three days after Kun's and because he was older and the team captain and they had all more or less adjusted to jetlag by then, the celebration was significantly more elaborate.

There was a more traditional cake and birthday song afterwards, followed by an esoteric (to say the least) roast. In Argentina, there would have been beef, maybe a little pork or lamb, but mostly beef. Here in Johannesburg, there wasn't any shortage of beef, but because there were so many other meats offered, the group that had gone shopping (which consisted of Maxi, Mario, Agustin, and the Madrid Gabriel) had bought the more unusual ones on a whim. And so they were treated with the conundrum of trying to prepare and then roast things like crocodile, antelope, ostrich, warthog, and even wildebeest. Ruggeri had reasonably pulled up tips for preparation on the internet and had set his laptop in the kitchen but then Lucas and Rodrigo, who had been in charge of cleaning the meat, mixed up all the tags. In the end, they weren't even sure which slab of meat came from a cow!

Leo watched this unfold and was amused when Kun rolled up his sleeves and joined the fray. Among the twenty of them there (with the birthday boy being distracted by Pablo and Carlos), Kun was unquestionably the most experienced in the kitchen. It was hilarious, watching him order Sergio around while brandishing a knife the length of his forearm. There was a scramble for a pan large enough to cook them all before Pipita and Angel discovered a grill out back. Everything was moved there, ingredients and utensils were brought from the kitchen, and somehow or another, more than three quarters of the stuff was successfully roasted, Argentinian style.

After they dragged in the birthday boy and served him his asado -- to which he chewed and chewed and chewed and gave it two thumbs up but wasn't certain it was really beef -- the rest of them dug in. Then there was cake and singing, another round of hugs and kisses, and Javi was moved to tears. But the celebration wasn't over yet -- courtesy of Gabriel (the one at Barca) and Martin, native dancers had been called in from the city. They made their appearance after the cake had been eaten, with their beautifully painted faces with feathers and glass beads woven into their locks. They sung while they danced about the birthday boy and as they hadn't heard the native tongue properly spoken until then, it was strange and captivating all at once. Carlos summed it up best: the dancers' accents managed to make 'jabulani' sound good.

-

Their families arrived on the tenth. It had been a grueling fifteen hour flight from Buenos Aires to Johannesburg with an hour-long layover in Sao Paolo. The same plane had also been carrying family members from the Brazilian team -- along with run-of-the-mill fans -- so the experience had been doubly taxing.

The two of them -- himself and Kun -- had the largest group of guests by far. Most of their teammates invited their parents and maybe their significant others. But both of them invited their siblings _and_ spouses along with nephews and nieces.

At the airport, Leo was embraced and embraced in-turn: his mother, his father, Maria Sol, Rodrigo, Gabriella, Antonella, and Matias. Isabella gave him pressed flowers she had made in daycare while Pablo, Gustavo, and Lucas were wearing #10 jerseys. Eleven people in total.

Then he switched off with Kun, because of he needed to greet Kun's family too, and embraced and embraced in-turn: Kun's mother and father. Then he hugged Gaby, shook hands with Nicolas (the boyfriend everyone was gradually warming up to), Daiana, and Mayra. He bumped fists with Mauricio and Gastón and remarked to Yesica (who was beginning to swell with her second child) and Enrique how Kun always said Maria was the loveliest smartest girl and they beamed at that. Also eleven people.

They needed a bus to get their families from the airport to Hyatt Regency. Two out of their three group matches would be in Johannesburg and the hotel gave them the option of extending the stay (a boon, considering they had booked ten rooms total), assuming they advanced into the knockout stages. Only the kids (so: Maria Sol, Gaby, Nicolas, Mauricio, and Gastón) were actually willing to travel to the other fields so it was another headache and a half organizing travel to Polokwane and back.

But they managed, somehow, and they returned to the villa where the rest of the team had long since settled in their own families a little after ten.

"You know what," Kun said as they crawled into bed, "I changed my mind, I don't want to deal with a big family."

"So what are we talking?" Leo quipped, "Three kids? Four?"

Kun threw his pillow. Leo caught it with a laugh and tossed it back.

Then they turned off the lights and Leo was prepared to say good-night when Kun spoke again.

"Leo," he said. His voice was serious this time.

"What is it?"

"During the tournament, can we not talk about... this?"

Leo blinked.

"Um," he started, "Sure?"

"It's not that I don't like it," Kun stammered, "Because I do. Maybe a little too much. But, like, it's really important and I'm scared I'll get distracted because I'm not as good at concentrating as I should be."

"It's fine," Leo chuckled, "It'll be good for me too."

"Thanks," he could hear Kun's smile, "Good night."

"Night."

-

The day before the start of the matches, Blatter announced three new regulations. In addition to an increase of security (owing to the ever-present fear of terrorism), there would be a ban on particularly loud declarations of support including boomboxes, speakerphones, and vuvuzelas. Furthermore, because of public outcry, the amount of livestock that was to be sacrificed would be cut in half. And finally, FIFA had caved at last and unveiled both goal-line sensors and video assisted referreeing for this World Cup and the talking heads on television were abuzz with excitement, pronouncing this would be the fairest tournament yet.

The opening ceremony was the next day and two hours after that, the first round of group matches. Mexico (coached by Aguirre, Kun noted with pleased surprise) beat out the host nation 2-1 while Uruguay tied 0-0 with France. They didn't watch these matches; Ruggeri was too busy grilling them on the Nigerian team's play style in preparation for their own match.


	24. How swiftly we choose it

Chapter 24  
**How swiftly we choose it**

Kun had been initially worried. The realist in him was certain: there were so many things that could go wrong, something just _had_ to give. It was too hot and dry, the grass on the pitch was all weird, the ball was impossible to maneuver, he'd be outed as a fake defender as soon as they played, there was no way the whole team had enough stamina to last through training _and_ matches... and so forth.

But then he was being sent onto the pitch and he realized his worries were for naught. Football was still football and he still loved to play. There were fewer familiar faces on the Nigerian team this time, but he definitely recognized a couple from the Olympics. After having come across one another at two different finals, it was almost relaxing to play against them with lower stakes.

Argentina won, 1-0, the only goal of the match having been scored by Gabriel in the first six minutes -- and it was a header to boot. At first, Kun had wanted to run to Leo, to hug and kiss him as they usually did as they celebrated with the rest of the team. But he remembered his own request of Leo and held back. Leo instead hugged Pipita and Kun did a jump-skip-hop with Angel. And if he felt the sting of jealousy, he pushed it down. It was for the good of the team; like Ruggeri said, they needed to prioritize what was in front of them. They coalesced with the rest of the team, screaming and shouting and jumping up and because they had won -- their first match in the World Cup and they had _won_.

After the match, they went back to the villa. Ruggeri informed them of the results for the other two matches: South Korea beat Greece 2-0 and England tied 1-1 with the USA.

-

There was nothing quite like the World Cup, in terms of sheer intensity. They were either playing football on the pitch, watching football on television, talking about football with one another, or -- when Ruggeri wasn't looking -- playing football on television (a la FIFA or PES).

With regards to watching old matches, Ruggeri never forced the rest of the team to take notes though he did insist on having everyone sit through the most recent three matches of their opposing team, in this case, South Korea, before the match proper. And then there was strategy discussion, which everyone needed to sit in on even though Javi, Ruggeri, and the Gabriels did all the talking.

"How are we not sick of this yet?" Kun exclaimed. They had just watched slack-jawed as Spain lost 0-1 to Switzerland. _Switzerland_. Other upsets included Portugal tying with the Ivory Coast and North Korea getting a goal off of Brazil.

"It's football, Aguero," Javi answered, tousling Kun's hair affectionately, "We'll never get enough of it."

There was, Kun supposed, a lot of truth in that.

-

They played against South Korea the following day, winning 4-1. Both he and Leo had assisted Pipita for the final two goals so of course the three of them celebrated together, along with Lucas and Pocho, at the end of the match, holding hands like it was the U20 and jumping up and down in a lopsided circle.

The second match. They had won the second match too. Which meant they were definitely getting out of the group stages. Which meant they had made it to the Round of Sixteen.

Ruggeri, like usual, told them not to get ahead of themselves, tweaking the ears of the more enthusiastic among them who were already screaming _we're going to the knock-out stage, we're going to the knock-out stage_. They still had one more match to go and even though the stakes weren't as high, it was important to train, to prepare, to give all they had because it was as much about respecting the opponent as it was about winning.

-

So they went back to training. Back to stretching and warming up. Back to watching videos of Greece's past matches.

Kun, who had been keeping up with Uruguay and Mexico in addition to Spain, was happy to see both of them had won their matches against South Africa and France respectively. Mexico's match against France had been another upset, it had been 0-0 until the second half, when Aguirre subbed Hernandez on and the score slid to 2-0. Meanwhile Uruguay was fielding four Diegos, that _had_ to get confusing.

The day before their final match of the group stages, Portugal beat North Korea 7-0, marking the largest goal difference in the tournament. It came a surprise that only one of those goals had been scored by Ronaldo, though he was likely busy captaining. Also, Spain beat Honduras which meant they still had a chance of breaking out of the group stages.

He knew it was bordering on treason, to be secretly cheering for other nations -- or at least friends who happened to be playing for other nations -- because there was only one winner. But at the same time, he felt getting kicked out at the group stages was a gross indignity. Kun wasn't so bold as to text congratulations to Diego or Geri or Cesc, but he was grateful and relieved to see their national teams doing well.

-

They played their final match of the group stage against Greece the next day. This was their first match outside of Johannesburg and, by hook or crook, all the kids from their respective families managed to tag along in a separate bus.

Because Ruggeri had made them watch Greece's most recent three matches (two from the World Cup and a friendly against ), Kun -- and the rest of the defending squad -- was prepared for the zig-zagging of their forwards. The end score was 2-0, with Leo assisting Carlos' goal at 89' this time.

They got out of the group stage three for three and it was the best feeling yet. The whole team was all smiles and even Ruggeri couldn't dampen their spirits.

-

When Leo's twenty-third birthday rolled around, the group stages were only halfway done. Mexico, surprisingly, had qualified at the top of their group, winning 2-1 against Uruguay, who had taken the second slot. There were rumors the Uruguayan team was preserving their offense, considering both Suarez and Forlan had been pulled off for the second half.

And then it was their group, of which they were first, followed by South Korea. Then the USA and England. Then Germany and Ghana. Kun didn't know it then, but in retrospectives of the tournament, the video assisted refereeing would be credited for the advancement of the USA, as well as the additional two penalties awarded to Serbia (when they played Australia) though they had expended too much energy beating Germany to make either goal. At the present, he was conspiring with the rest of the team on a proper birthday celebration for Leo. Ruggeri had instructed them to buy beef and nothing else for this roast and Kun was once again given full reign of the grill.

There was a cake, the twenty-three of them sang happy birthday, and Leo's whole family came over from the Hyatt to celebrate with them. And Kun wanted, in that moment, to break his own oath -- to throw his arms around Leo and wish him happy birthday like he had always done. Like Leo had just done for him. But he couldn't, not with his own promise. Not when he was the one that had asked for this distance. So he watched on with Eze and Pocho, overflowing with happiness despite the distance because they had done it, they had won all three rounds and even though the prospect of playing Uruguay in the round of sixteen was terrifying, still, they had won.

-

The other teams that had made it to the knockout stages were: Netherlands and Japan from Group E, Paraguay and Slovakia from Group F, Brazil and Portugal from Group G, and -- awaited with much-baited breath -- Spain and Chile from Group H. Kun could tell Leo was relieved as well that Spain had made it out of the groups. If Chile had made a second or even third goal... well. More surprising was how Switzerland had placed third in their group.

And so half of the squads were sent home and the round of sixteen commenced.

And now it was two days after Leo's birthday and a day before their first knock-out round match and Kun was desperately rifling through his suitcase. Mexico had just beat South Korea, 2-1 with fifteen minutes of overtime. Ghana had also knocked out the US with the same score. More importantly, it was the five year anniversary of Emi's death and Kun was certain he had packed the shirt Leo gave him, but try as he might, he couldn't find it.

"What's the matter?" Leo asked, looking up from his PSP.

"I can't find my t-shirt," Kun answered. "The one you gave me." He had planned to wear it for tomorrow's match, hoping there was some reason to reveal it so that he could send a photo back to Emiliano's folks.

"Did you pack it?"

"I thought I did, but now I can't find it." Kun upended his suitcase onto his bed, rifling through it a second time. No luck.

Leo got up and left the room. Kun furrowed his brows in consternation. He sorted through his clothing a third time, trying to think where Leo might've gone. And where the shirt could've gone. He should have looked for it earlier, he knew, but he'd been caught up with the World Cup and Ruggeri made them watch a dozen matches of the Uruguayan national team _and_ Kun would be marking Diego -- his teammate, Diego -- tomorrow, so he had been distracted and now here he was, unable to honor Emi the only way he knew how because --

His internal ranting was interrupted when Leo returned. There was a familiar shirt in his hands.

"Here," he said, holding the missing t-shirt out to Kun.

Kun took it and spread it out. Sure enough, it read _Para Vos Emiliano_. He choked up at the sight of it and, overwhelmed with emotion, whirled on Leo, throwing his arms around him and thinking nothing of the gesture.

Leo froze up before slowly looping his arms around Kun's waist.

"Thank you," Kun mumbled, "For the shirt, and for finding it again. Where was it, even?"

"Laundry room."

"Oh." He pulled back, remembering their -- _his_ \-- agreement to not address their relationship for the whole of the tournament. His cheeks were flushed and Leo's eyes were dark. "Sorry. Thank you." His words sounded pathetic, even as he said them.

Leo swallowed and nodded.

"It's hard for me too," he admitted. Then he gave one of his lop-sided smiles, the kind Kun had grown so fond of, and added: "But it's only fair that you get to make me wait too, right?"

"I... hadn't thought of it like that," Kun slowly replied. This conversation was definitely supposed to wait. "It was more like... this is what we're giving up temporarily, to support the team?" He flushed, continuing with: "The others are always complaining about the sex ban, so I figured..."

"Mm," Leo hummed, whether in dismissal or agreement Kun wasn't certain. "Are you okay, though?" he pressed, looking right at Kun.

"What do you mean?"

"With marking Diego."

"Oh." He grimaced. "I mean... I'm not really looking forward to it, if that's what you're asking." Diego was absurdly fast and as slippery as an eel. He also had no qualms about passing the ball to someone else even when he was five meters from the goal line so long as it meant they could score. Basically, out of all the people Kun had yet to mark -- even including the friendly against Germany -- Diego would be the most challenging by far. And it was so _weird_ to be playing on opposite sides. Hell, he was more used to playing against _Leo_ than against Diego!

"But you're okay with it?"

"I'll definitely do it," Kun reassured him. "I'm the best one for the job, for sure." Martin, who was the second fastest after him, had freely admitted he had problems predicting Diego's next move. Which didn't mean Kun was much better, but they had played and practiced together almost every day for the past two years so it was understandable he had a better shot than Martin, who only ever met him in international club matches.

"Okay," Kun could have sworn Leo breathed a small sigh of relief. Leo reached over and patted his shoulder. "Then -- we'll be counting on you."

"And _we'll_ be counting on _you_ ," Kun retorted, "Because like Cesc said -- "

"Careful," Leo warned, "Don't take Cesc' side when Geri's around."

"Even when he's right?" Kun asked, affronted.

"Especially when he's right."

It was nice, to be able to laugh and joke with Leo like this. Even if Kun couldn't bridge the distance, because he felt obligated to put _something_ on the altar, even if it was a temporary thing, at least they still had FIFA, cumbia, and a mutual hatred of the awful ball with the unpronounceable name.

-

Thankfully, they were well-rested for their match against Uruguay, returning to play at Johannesburg once more. It was definitely the most challenging match yet and even though Kun had played so many matches with Diego, playing against him -- and marking him, specifically -- was a different beast entirely. Diego made it clear from the get-go that they were opponents and it was because of this cool professionalism that Kun was able to play his best. And he did, and it still wasn't enough -- even as he was dogging at Diego's heels, Diego always seemed one step ahead of him, so much so that he was able to score a minute before halftime and then pass to Cavani at 67'.

Despite this, they still won. Entirely because of their forwards and midfielders who gave the Uruguayan defense a run for their money. Between Leo, Angel, Pipita, Maxi, and Carlos, it was apparent by the second half that the Uruguayans needed to sub out more defenders than they could. Tabarez was relentless though, subbing out the three he could.

This match was the first time they were affected by the video assisted refereeing. The third goal of the match, scored by Carlos off of an assist from Leo, was declared offside a minute after their team was brought together in celebration. Ruggeri contested it and one of his aides was sent to the recording room. He came back and confirmed it was offside. So, although they had scored four goals total, the end score was 3-2. Carlos was plenty pissed-off about the invalidated goal and Leo was similarly disgruntled but the rest of the team -- Kun included -- couldn't care less because they had won. He tore off his jersey as soon as the match ended, waving it above his head like all the fans, and showed the t-shirt underneath for all the world to see.

 _Para Vos Emiliano_.

They had won. Against Uruguay. And now -- now they were advancing to the quarterfinals.

-

"This is a rigged tournament," Leo complained when it was the two of them in their suite in the villa. Germany had just beat England 4-2 with the second English goal courtesy of goal-line technology. This victory was a pyrrhic one however as Müller had been issued a second yellow card, barring him from playing in the quarterfinal match. "What's the point of having referees if they're just going to check things up on the monitors? And don't get me started on the damn ball."

"It's not like those goals mattered," Kun protested. Because they still beat Uruguay and Germany still beat England. It was just the difference was a little smaller.

"Not yet."

"You played really well," Kun said instead, changing the subject. Leo gave a dismissive snort and he pressed on: "You did, really. I was beside myself trying to mark Diego -- if it weren't for offense, we would've lost the match."

"But we didn't."

"And now we're going to the quarterfinals," Kun sat up, unable to contain his joy. "The quarterfinals, Leo," he stressed. " _Us_. C'mon, lighten up a bit. Aren't you happy?"

Leo heaved a sigh before he sat up as well. His lips quirked upwards, like he was reluctant to smile, and soon enough, he was wearing an identical grin.

"Okay," he conceded, "I am pretty happy. It is pretty good."

"But not good enough?" Kun teased.

"Nope," Leo shook his head, smile still in-place. "Not good enough."

-

He dreamt of Emiliano that night. In the dream, he didn't exist, or if he did, Emiliano couldn't see him. Emi was guarding the goal while wearing the red and white of Independiente. He was #1, el Uno to the end, and his teammates and opponents were faceless blurs. Were they playing Cordoba? Or the Juniors? Maybe River Plate or Estudiantes, Kun wasn't certain. But then Emiliano caught the ball and his jersey changed to albiceleste and the other side turned into Brazil. It was the ninetieth minute and the score was 2-2. It was a penalty shoot-out, Kun realized, and Emiliano had just caught the ball a second time.

As the stadium was drowned in sky blue and white, the whole scene faded out until he was taken back to when he had gone to church for the first time in Spain. Specifically, how he had lit three candles after confessing -- one for Emiliano, one for Yesica's first child, and one for Maradona. The smoke from the candles went up, past the dome of the church, over the rooftops of Madrid. They trailed up, past the clouds and into the night sky where they coalesced with the stars.

Kun woke up to the ringing of his phone. It was 2:41 in the morning and Emiliano's parents were calling him.

He scrambled to pick it up and dashed into the bathroom, all but slamming the door behind him. It turned out his mother had sent news to Emiliano's mother about his post-match celebrations and she had just gotten to see the recording of it. She cried and thanked him and Kun cried too. Because of the dream, the grief seemed to well up in him anew and he received it with relief, knowing that so long as he felt it, he would never forget.

 _Thank you, Sergio,_ Emi's mother had said at the end, _Thank you for playing football._

Kun set his cell phone aside after the call ended. He looked up into his reflection and drew a sharp breath. He looked terrible. Then he forced himself to grin, because he was grateful and happy and there _was_ beauty in grief too, the bone-aching pain of having loved and lost.

He said a quick prayer and then washed his face, turning off the lights before tiptoeing back to bed. Of all the compliments he had gotten for his playing style, Emiliano's still stood out. _I love the football you play._

-

The team went back to training the next day as the Netherlands beat Slovakia 2-1 and Brazil beat Chile 3-0. They had just played Germany in March and beat them 1-0 but they didn't need Ruggeri to tell them a proper match was different from a friendly. Even with the loss of Muller, the German team was one of the best. It was especially meaningful for Leo -- and for the other players (Maxi, Javi, Carlos, the Gabriels, and Rodrigo) who had been on the team for the German World Cup -- because it was a means of avenging their quarterfinal loss.

What did come as a surprise were the pair of matches on the 29th. Paraguay and Japan played to 120 minutes (so, two extra bursts of overtime) and the score remained at 0-0. It was only in the penalty shoot-out that Paraguay was able to claw out a win.

The match between Spain and Portugal was even more nerve-wracking: the sole goal of the match, made by Villa in the 63rd minute, was declared offside five minutes after, courtesy of the VAR. del Bosque, like Ruggeri, had contested the call and he had marched into the recording room himself to see. Kun would remember the thunderous expression on the Spanish coach's face for a long time as he admitted through clenched teeth that the goal _had_ been offside. It was as Leo said, with the disqualification of their goal, the Spanish team -- who had been celebrating until the secondary ref ran out onto the pitch -- lost momentum and faltered. Though they didn't concede any goals, they were unable to score a second time.

The match between Spain and Portugal proceeded into overtime and after 120 minutes of playtime, Portugal emerged victorious, having won the penalty shoot-out 6-4. Later replays showed Villa's goal had been less than a meter offside, and there was outrage over perceived VAR-meddling.

Kun was crushed and Leo was furious. Many of their other teammates were similarly shocked, since the players of the two squads played a fair amount at the club level together. Leo reiterated his belief that technological meddling would be the death of the game and Kun couldn't even fall back on his previous argument that the nullified goal hadn't mattered. If the referee had called it offside from the get-go, then Spain wouldn't have celebrated. This whole business of invalidating goals minutes after was troubling, Ruggeri admitted, and he urged them to play as cautiously as ever, since they couldn't make controlled long passes with the ball.

Leo went to meet with Geri and Cesc on the 30th. Kun had considered tagging along but decided he would be out of place. Leo was the one who played regularly with the other members of the national team. He would know how to comfort them. It was the first time that year he practiced with the national team without Leo. It was a strange feeling, one he was glad he didn't need to repeat, and besides, Leo returned soon enough, relaying how the Spaniards were plenty bitter about the loss but as there wasn't much for them to do, they resolved to set their eyes instead on the upcoming Euro.

-

On the 30th, he received a text from Diego.

_you better win this thing_

It was hardly the soul-stirring encouragement he knew the other capable of, but it meant a lot to him all the same. He had been terrified Diego would be bitter about the match, that the loss might affect their teamwork when the season started. It was silly, of course, considering he played with and against _Leo_ , the sorest loser he'd ever seen, and they were still good friends despite it all.

 _sure thing_ , he wrote back, tacking on a smiley for good measure.

-

July 2nd marked the first pair of quarterfinal matches. Both matches ended with the same score of 2-1, with Ghana beating Mexico and the Netherlands beating Brazil. Considering this was the first quarterfinal round in a long time which comprised a European minority, Kun wasn't much bothered with the result. He was sorry Aguirre was made to take the fall yet again, but as the Mexican team had finally broken out of the round of sixteen and as Hernandez could still play in 2014, it was hardly a crushing defeat. The Africans too, were ecstatic one of their countries would be playing the semifinals, which really went to show how the World Cup managed to unite people. The logic for the fans being, if their country's team was knocked out, the neighboring countries were well worth cheering for.

Most of their team, Kun included, were a bit disappointed to see Brazil go -- it remained a collective dream to beat them in the finals -- but Ruggeri chastised them, saying they ought to concentrate on the match tomorrow. And so they turned off the television as the Brazilians and Dutch were lining up for the post-match handshakes, switching instead to a final round of strategy for their own quarterfinal match, this time to be held at Cape Town.

-

As expected, the Germans were a completely different team outside of friendlies. Even with Martín's warnings, even after having watched match after match, it still couldn't compare to playing against the real thing. _And_ they were playing against a benched Müller; Kun couldn't imagine an additional level of hellish offense.

Ruggeri had him marking Klose this time around and though there was nearly a week's worth of rest between matches, Kun felt the fatigue sink in. He was subbed out fourty minutes in, switching off with Gabriel (the one from Real) who had played more rounds with Klose. There was something to be said about experience; even though Kun was faster, because he hadn't played as often against the Germans, Gabriel managed head and shoulders above him.

Then he was all but biting his nails on the bench as the Germans scored the first goal at 44'. It was a psychological blow and the team was a bundle of nerves as a result. He was at a loss; there was no way he was going to be fielded again for the match but at the same time, he desperately wanted to do _something_.

It was Pablo who gave him a light shove in the locker rooms.

"Play us some cumbia, will you?" his fellow defender prompted.

"Here?" Kun stared at him, "Now?"

"Yes," Pablo snapped his fingers impatiently. "C'mon, everyone knows you've got the longest playlist."

Cue him desperately scrolling through his iPod. This song was too slow, this one too sad, this one referenced defeat... and so on. Thankfully, the perfect song popped up within seconds. Corazon Valiente -- the titular track from Gilda's last album. It was so upbeat and optimistic, even though the words were sad, plus it was incredibly popular so everyone knew the words. Kun swore he caught _Ruggeri_ singing along but when he looked again their manager was wearing his usual dour expression.

Pablo had had the right idea and even before the song was over, their other teammates were shouting out requests. It was the world's saddest DJ show but it was what they needed. They were laughing and singing, off-key and off-tune and some of them didn't even know the words to the songs they themselves had requested, but by the end of the break, everyone was suitably energized once more.

Leo scored a beautiful goal -- his first for the tournament -- in the first ten minutes of the second round. It seemed the Germans had expected them to be disheartened and had been caught off-guard when the whole squad returned to the pitch practically glowing with enthusiasm. Kun screamed as the ball touched the net, jumping out of his seat to cheer with the rest of the team and the Argentinian half of the stadium.

The score remained 1-1 for the second half. Fifteen minutes of overtime was added, in which Carlos (assisted by Maxi) scored a second goal. Unfortunately, their euphoria was short-lived as the Germans were quick to recover and evened the score minutes after. Another fifteen minutes were added and when they were, Ruggeri turned to him.

"It's going to turn into a penalty shootout," their manager said. His face was dead-serious.

Kun swallowed. He didn't dare hope.

"Can you play?" Ruggeri asked him point-blank. Kun could've wept at the question.

" _Yes_."

Ruggeri nodded. "Okay. Then you're up. Switch off with Milito."

And like that, Kun was subbed back in for the final fifteen minutes while Gabriel left. It was absolutely nerve-wracking, even though Gabriel had been marking Trochowski who was a hell of a lot less terrifying than Klose, still, Kun was terrified he would mess up on defense and they wouldn't even make it to the shoot-out.

But fifteen minutes passed and the score remained 2-2 so off to the penalties the two of them went.

Ruggeri selected Leo, Ángel, Maxi, Carlos, and himself. Löw selected Klose, Khedira, Schweinsteiger, Özil, and Trochowski. They lost the coin toss which meant the Germans went first and Kun tried to ignore the snide voice that said sixty percent of the teams that won the coin toss won the shoot-out because _it didn't matter_.

Kun thought the match had been stressful enough but the penalty shootout was even worse. They were up against Neuer while the Germans were up against Chiquito. And really, it didn't matter how good of a goalie either of them were, penalty shoot-outs heavily favored the players actually taking the shot.

Klose made his. Leo too. Khedira made his. Ángel too. Schweinsteiger made his. Maxi too. Özil made his. Carlos too.

He was starting to feel bad for both goalies. They were diving to the left and right and covered with mud and it had been eight shots so far and they hadn't caught a single one. And then -- as Trochowski was taking his shot, the stars aligned or God smiled down on Chiquito or maybe even Maradona himself blessed them -- whatever it was, _something_ happened and Chiquito managed to catch the ball.

There was a moment of silence as no one could really believe what they saw. The fans were the first to react, shouting _RO-ME-RO, RO-ME-RO_ until the whole stadium was filled. Chiquito stared, first at Trochowski, then at the ball, before he gave a roar of triumph and threw the ball to the side.

The referee told them to switch sides and Kun begged his knees not to buckle under the pressure. He really didn't like penalty shoot-outs. But Ruggeri had placed his faith in him; the whole team had had faith in him, and here he was, standing on the white spot with the ball in front of him and Neuer in front of the goal.

Kun drew a deep breath.

Now or never.

He looked up and for a moment, imagined it was Emiliano and not Neuer that was guarding the goal. The vision was enough to transport him back to the Libertadores where he'd first learned how to feint.

He took the shot. He didn't remember the mechanics, except that Neuer thought he would be aiming left because he was kicking with his right foot. He shot right with right and made the shot.

Chiquito tackled him to the ground and the rest of the team soon followed. He was screaming and crying; they were screaming and crying; every spectator in the stadium seemed to be chanting his name and he knew they were making a mess of themselves, that they needed to pull themselves together but he couldn't, he couldn't do anything but lie there, smothered under the collective weight of the team.

They had won.

They had beat Germany.

They were going to the semis.

-

Everyone who had taken part in the match was far too tired to watch the subsequent match. They were rushed from the showers to the team therapist where they were poked, prodded, and (only occasionally) massaged. By the time they stumbled from the bus back to the villa, Portugal had beat Paraguay 2-0 which meant their teams would be facing each other on the 7th.

Kun didn't even want to think about it. Three days wasn't enough time to recover. Even if they were given a whole week, it wouldn't have been enough. But that was just how the World Cup was: as the stakes got higher and higher, the teams had less and less time to recover. So there was no way he -- or anyone -- would be playing their best game for the most important match in their international careers. And that was how it had always been.

He dreamt of Maradona for the first time that night. He was playing against West Germany again at '86 finals. Every inch of him was bathed in an ethereal light and it didn't matter how many times Kun saw him play, he always found something new to marvel over. This was what they were aiming for. This was the peak they were climbing towards. It was suffocating and terrifying but inspiring at the same time; that they had someone so great to follow after.

 _Dear God_ , he prayed the next morning, _Thank you thank you thank you._

-

Kun didn't think anything of it when Leo left early that night. Leo had played for the whole match against Germany, running from one side of the pitch to the next. It was understandable if he wanted to turn in early.

Kun, on the other hand, stayed up with the rest of the team: they started trash talking over their respective clubs in the dining room and then moved to the den where they sang karaoke and played FIFA. There was more trash talk, friendly ribbing, and just -- the usual hot air, blowing off steam sort of thing. Martin admitted none of his Bayern teammates had said anything to him after the match and everyone placed bets on how long it would take before they'd get over it.

It was late when he went back to their room. At least ten, maybe eleven. It came as a surprise that Leo's bed was empty. The sheets were still turned down which meant he hadn't even slept in it.

"Leo?" he called. There was no answer.

"Leo?" he repeated, going to the bathroom and knocking on the door. Still no answer. He opened it and then turned on the lights. It was empty. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His mother's knee-jerk fatalism was deeply embedded in his psyche and he fought to rein it in. Just because Leo hadn't gone directly back to their room didn't mean he'd been kidnapped by South African warlords.

Kun tapped his chin, trying to think where else Leo might go. Then he remembered his cellphone and tried calling the other. Leo's phone rang six times, but there was no answer. He sent a quick _where are you?_ before heading back outside to search. It was 22:15 then and he promised if he hadn't found Leo by 22:30, he would wake Ruggeri up and let him call the authorities.

After Kun had swept through the house twice -- and there was still no sign of Leo -- he finally received a reply at 22:29.

 _up on the roof_ , Leo wrote back.

Kun blanched. He hadn't even thought to look there!

He took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door to the rooftop balcony at the end. Leo turned to look at him, and Kun let out a sigh of relief, seeing the other bundled to the nines.

"There you are," he sighed, "Almost had a heart attack looking for you." He went over to Leo and sat down next to him, scooting closer as Leo lifted the blankets to make room for him.

"It's a pretty safe neighborhood," Leo remarked. And it was. In the sleepy light of the waning moon, the place looked downright peaceful.

"I know that," Kun admitted, "But it didn't stop me from worrying some warlords had kidnapped you or something."

Leo snickered, shoulders shaking with mirth.

"A warlord?" he repeated.

"Shut up," Kun shoved against him lightly.

"You and your imagination," Leo teased. Kun felt Leo shift, felt Leo raise his arm. But he stopped himself and pulled it back so they weren't holding hands, just sitting side-by-side. Because Kun wanted it, even if he didn't. "Thanks for coming to find me anyways," Leo added, "Though I can't imagine you'd be much use against a warlord."

"I could kick the football at his head," Kun suggested, as he kept himself from looping his arm around Leo.

"Not this football."

"I kicked it well enough at the shootout yesterday, didn't I?" Kun countered.

"So you're going to get that close to this warlord? You do realize they're always armed, right?"

"Shut up," Kun shoved him again, "Asshole."

Leo only chuckled and they sat there in a companionable silence for a while. Kun watched the lights from Johannesburg twinkle in the distance. It was hard to believe both their families were a stone's throw away. He was still over the moon that his siblings were finally watching him play since they were too loyal to Independiente to come to any of his Athletico matches. His eyelids grew heavy and he found himself leaning against Leo's shoulder, watching as the moon made its way across the sky.

He was about a minute away from dozing off when Leo spoke.

"I feel like all these matches are for me."

Kun righted himself immediately and turned to stare incredulously at the other.

"Excuse me?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.

"It's just -- " Leo gestured with his right hand, "Uruguay was getting back for February, Germany is from 2006, and now it's Portugal which is like the semifinals for the Champions' League all over again."

It was only because they spent five years together that Kun understood any of that at all. And it still didn't make sense.

"Germany I'll give you," he conceded, "But Diego wasn't the only reason you guys lost the match in February. And ManU is a lot more than just Ronaldo."

"If it wasn't for him we would've won," Leo insisted. Kun wasn't sure he was talking about Valentines' or the Champions' League.

"Does it bother you?" Kun asked instead, "Playing against Ronaldo?"

Leo was quiet for a while, though Kun remained certain he would answer. Because he always did.

Sure enough, Leo arranged his thoughts and said: "A little. Out of all the other players, he's the only one I'm not sure I can manage."

"...On a team?"

"No, I mean, on the pitch. Like, stealing the ball from him."

"Oh." Now, Kun had watched Ronaldo play and he'd heard a fair amount about him from Angel (whose hero-worship of the guy was veering into idolatry) _and_ he had stood in line at some FIFA award for an autograph (also for Angel), so he definitely knew Ronaldo was a good player. But to hear Leo say it so frankly was a different matter. He didn't know what to say, having long since contented himself with his one to ten percent.

"And the media keeps egging us on," Leo added, "The madridistas are trying to build up a rivalry where there isn't one so that they can get him."

"I was more concerned about avenging Géri and Cesc," Kun blurted out.

Then it was Leo's turn to look at him. He stared for a while and then broke out into laughter. It started as quiet giggles before Leo was grabbing onto his arm and leaning against him, actually clutching at his sides from the hilarity.

Kun crossed his arms, waiting for Leo's laughter to subside. It didn't seem that funny to _him_. Portugal had knocked out Spain so of course they were going to knock out Portugal.

"You're right," Leo told him, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "You're right."

"Then why is it so funny?" Kun grumped.

"Because I didn't think of it like that," Leo heaved a sigh, chuckling lightly, before wrapping the blankets in a bundle and then pushing himself to his feet. He stuck out his hand and Kun took it, letting himself be pulled up.

"Come on," Leo said, "It's late, and we've got training tomorrow."

They let go of each other as soon as they crossed back inside and they walked back to their suite in silence. Leo let him use the bathroom first; he was in and out in five minutes, having settled on the bare essentials. He replied to texts from his mother while Leo washed up and then it was lights out once more.

-

The Netherlands beat Ghana on the 6th. Because they had made it all the way to the semifinals -- to the _semifinals_ \-- they'd be playing another two rounds regardless.

Everyone was abuzz with fervor, with excitement, with nervous dread and anticipation.

-

Kun was ninety percent certain Ronaldo hated him. But he couldn't care. Because they won -- they had beat _Portugal_. The match ended 1-0 in their favor with the only goal coming in 73 minutes in -- a header from Pipita, going off of Maxi's assist.

It was the first time in the tournament they had met a team as equally balanced. Portugal had done their homework, that much was apparent, and it was an uphill climb, just to get the ball across the pitch. Marking Ronaldo was a heart attack waiting to happen but at least he got through the whole match without needing to be subbed out. _And_ he had stolen the ball off of him, twice.

After having played against Ronaldo, Kun could understand what Leo meant when he worried about winning in a direct confrontation. Even though their playing styles were worlds apart, their control of the ball was second to none and he often found himself thinking back to his matches at Athletico against Barcelona while playing against Portugal. It was about taking every inch he could get and not getting discouraged when the inevitable gap in talents manifested. It was also about having faith in the rest of the team -- if he failed to take the ball from Ronaldo (as he did more often than not) at least there was Nicolas or Gabriel in the way of Ronaldo and the goal.

That match had been a proper war of attrition and even though they hadn't needed overtime, it still felt like they had been playing for the whole two hours. Despite this,a new surge of adrenaline coarsed through his veins when the referee blew the whistle signaling the end of the match. There was no delay this time; the whole team, all twenty-three of them, were on the pitch, holding hands and jumping up and down and screaming bits from the national anthem and basically acting like first-timers in the Netherlands because --

 _They were going to the World Cup final_.

-

Just like with the previous matches, the day after their match against Portugal was a mandated rest day. Nothing more like light stretching and jogging, with absolutely no dribbling or shooting allowed. To pass the time and get them in the mindset of the final, Ruggeri treated them to hours of footage of the Netherland team playing. Since it would be the last match of the World Cup, they each had six matches behind them. It meant they had the chance to learn their opponents' playstyle even before the start of the match.

Even with the recordings, the team was chomping at the bit to practice. They only had four days between the semifinals and the final whereas the Netherlands had an extra day. Ruggeri had a shouting match with Martin because the latter tried to sneak out for extra practice. Only Javi and Maxi playing peacemaker had diffused the situation, though Ruggeri's word remained law.

Kun had been a bundle a nerves since even before the match against Portugal. It seemed the alertness hadn't gone away and his whole body was _tingling_. Anticipation, anxiety, excitement, nervousness -- it all swirled into one chaotic entity which he loved and loathed in equal parts. He wanted it to end, but at the same time, he wished it could drag on for all eternity. There was a sort of poetry to the match-up, he thought, even though they had no grudges against the Netherlands, because the U20 where everything had started (for him and half the team) had been held there. So in a way, it was like coming full circle.

Dinner was a quiet affair with short and stilted conversation. Everyone was exhausted, still caught up in yesterday's adrenaline rush, yet the communal desire to train was palpable.

Ruggeri ignored it, forcing them to sit through _another_ recording. Though they hadn't even gotten through all their group stage matches, Ruggeri had elected to play them a friendly instead, the Netherlands against Hungary. Kun was one of the few that stayed awake through the whole match and even he had to bite back a couple yawns. Leo was unabashedly dozing on his shoulder and the rest of the team save for Lucas and Carlos, were similarly asleep.

The match ended with the Netherlands having won 6-1 and Ruggeri turned the TV off. Then he turned to them with his hands on his hips, or rather to the 13% of them that were still awake. Then he sighed disparagingly.

"Wake your teammates up and drag their asses to bed," he commanded, "Don't let them fall asleep in the den." Then he turned on his heel and left.

Kun traded glances with Carlos and Lucas. Or rather, just Lucas, because Carlos affected a huge yawn and patted both of them on the head.

"Whelp," he said, "You heard the mister. Get everyone up and upstairs. Night!"

And with that said, he made his way out of the den.

"Couldn't we just leave them here?" Lucas whined. Kun didn't blame him. Some of their teammates, like Rico and Mario, were dangerous to rouse. He considered this option. The problem was, the den had no chance of accommodating the twenty of them and Kun really didn't want to risk jeopardizing the limited amount of practice time they had -- two days!! -- because half the team had slept curled-up on the floor.

"I've got a better idea," he said. He turned to Leo and gently shook his shoulder. "Leo," he whispered.

Lucas furrowed his brows but watched on.

"Leo," Kun repeated, a little louder. Leo's eyelids fluttered and he stirred, lifting himself from Kun's shoulder and rubbing his eyes. Kun swallowed, willing himself to not be distracted by the sight. "Leo, can you wake Javi up?"

Lucas' eyes widened in understanding there and he gave Kun a thumbs-up.

Leo, for his part, blinked sleepily and turned from Kun to the slumbering mass that was the rest of the national squad.

"Okay," Leo said, yawning. He pushed himself to his feet and went to shake Javi's shoulder. "Javi, Javi, wake up," he said.

It was a brilliant strategy: out of the three of them, Javi was least likely to snap at Leo because who could snap at Leo (save for hibernating individuals on the warpath, like Rico, Mario, Agustin, and so on)? And once Javi was woken up, he'd see Pablo, his roommate, had also fallen asleep and feel obliged to wake him up. Then Pablo, who remained Team Mom, would wake everyone else and they would proceed to their rooms awake and, most importantly, alive.

The problem was Javi gave a great big stretch as he was getting his bearing and one of his hands flew into Martin's face. Martin gave a low grumble, inadvertently elbowing Mario as he raised a hand to swipe at Javi. Kun took the opportunity to duck behind the bar while Mario woke with a roar. Lucas and Leo were quick to join him. It was like watching an experiment gone wrong: Mario woke up everyone who was supposed to be woken up by Pablo and then they were a hissing snapping growling punching kicking and yes even _biting_ mass of limbs and elbows. At last, Javi was fully awake (though Pablo was still asleep) and he saw the state of things and shouted for order at the top of his lungs.

Kun was certain the roof of the villa was raised a couple centimeters by the volume that night.

Only then did Pablo wake up so that order could be restored. There was a big group hug while Kun and Lucas dragged Leo away. No need to deal with the fallout, they figured.

The three of them tip-toed back to their rooms where they bid Lucas good-night before going in. Leo headed for the bathroom so Kun flopped on the bed, pulling his phone out from underneath his pillow. He had three missed calls, starting from nine PM, all from his mother, and one text.

 _call me as soon as you're free_ , she had written. _GREAT news!!!_

Kun couldn't imagine what the news could be but he quickly dialed back.

His mother picked up on the first ring.

"Sergio!" she trilled.

"Um. Hi, mom? What is it?"

"Sergio, oh, it's such wonderful news! Wait, wait -- "

"Mom, just tell me, what is it?"

"Gay marriage has been approved!"

 _That_ he had not been expecting. "What."

"In Argentina! In Buenos Aires! Today! Oh my goodness, we heard rumors about it since January and here we are!" She chattered for a bit about how all their plans for a Spanish wedding should be scrapped and they could get married right at home. And it was a wonderful thing and Kun was happy to have the chance, but at the same time --

"Mom," he said, cutting through her monologue about how she and Celia (Leo's mom) had been beside themselves at the news.

"Yes, Sergio?" His mother caught onto his tone, "What is it?"

"Mom, it's a great thing and I'm really happy. Really."

His mother gave a great gasp. "Honey! You're not going to tell me you're calling it off!"

"No, no," Kun ran a hand through his hair -- and of course Leo chose this moment to exit the bathroom. "Mom, I'm really happy about that. And nothing has changed... there." He waved his hand wildly at Leo, in no state to multitask, and added, "It's just -- can you wait until after the World Cup to talk about this? I need to concentrate on the final."

"Of course sweetie," his mother answered, though he could tell she was crestfallen at his reaction. "Don't train too hard you hear? And know that everyone is so proud of you for coming this far."

"I know."

"We love you very much Sergio," she added, "Always and forever."

"I know," Kun repeated, "I love you too. Good night." His mother wished him good-night as well and he closed his phone, shoving it back underneath his pillow. Then he flopped back against the bed with a groan. Why did things always have to happen all at once? Couldn't they have waited until after the World Cup to change the laws? Last he heard, the Supreme Court had wanted to table the discussion for 2011!

"What's wrong?" Leo asked.

"Nothing."

Leo raised an accusing eyebrow but said nothing.

Kun heaved a sigh. They had less than 72 hours before the finals; he did _not_ want to think about the wedding, marriage, or sex in that time. But Leo deserved to know. Assuming his mother hadn't already told him.

"My mom called to tell me -- well, us -- that the laws have changed. Like, we can get married in Argentina now too."

The news was as much of a shock for Leo.

"I see," he said, opening and closing his mouth. "But then...?" he gestured at the space between them.

"But I told her not until after the final. I mean, no talking about it until then," he ran a hand through his hair again, "It's not going to happen until 2011 anyways, right?"

Leo swallowed and gave a jerky nod.

"Right."

"Right," Kun repeated. Maybe if he said it enough times he would believe it too. Then he pushed himself up and went to the bathroom, quickly washing up before heading back to bed. Leo was already buried beneath the sheets. Kun turned off the lights and they exchanged their usual good-nights before drifting off to sleep.

-

The universe had it out for him. God didn't love him after all. Or maybe he did but he happened to like watching Kun suffer more.

It was the only explanation for why he woke up the next morning with a raging erection and the faint yet distinct memory that he had had a wet dream. Involving Leo. And a honeymoon suite. In Rosario.

Kun crossed himself seeing Leo still asleep and quickly hobbled out of bed and into the shower. He could have jacked off but he was worried it would only make things worse. They had waited so long and it had been _his_ idea to put things off until after the World Cup and now they had to train for the final so what the hell was he doing, dreaming of those kinds of things?!

All things considered, he was _that_ close to screaming at his dick.

Thankfully, it deflated quickly under the cold shower and he took a series of deep breaths, reminding himself of his priorities. They were here by the edge of their teeth. They didn't have Maradona on the field or in the stands. If he _was_ anywhere, he would be looking down on them from the clouds. So they could only rely on themselves and for that, he needed to concentrate.

Complete concentration, he told himself, willing his muscles to relax under the freezing water. He resolved to think only about the World Cup until the end whistle for the final. And then... well, he'd think about that when they came to it.

They had come too far to falter. Not now, not because of this.

With this in mind, he lathered himself up and watched the suds flow down the drain. Then he turned off the water and stepped out, pulling on the bathrobe. Leo was seated in the armchair, waiting for his turn, and they traded smiles upon making eye contact.

Nothing romantic, Kun told himself, even as he was grinning at the dumb luck of it all. Nothing romantic, nothing romantic, nothing romantic!

-

Because of training, they couldn't join in on the Independence Day celebrations that were taking place in the capital. The tens of thousands of Argentinians that had flocked to Johannesburg were beside themselves that their team was playing in the final. There were already effigies of Leo as the second coming of D10S.

Everyone's families took part in the festivities, sending them photos and videos of the events. There were fireworks and firecrackers and a great big all-beef roast and it was like a slice of Argentina had been transplanted to the heart of South Africa, and here they were -- the reason for it all -- still cooped up like sardines in the den with _notepads_ in their laps because Ruggeri had finally shown his true self and yes, they were _all_ taking notes on the Netherlands' matches.

"This is so bullshit," Carlos grumbled, summing up everyone's thoughts once more. But because he continued jotting things down, the rest of them didn't dare stop so by the end of this recording, Ruggeri was presented with twenty-four pages of notes (Maxi, the show-off, had written a page and a half. In _cursive_ ).

-

Even with all the training they could cram in and the additional sessions huddled in front of the television, even though their parents reassured them that they would love them regardless of the end result and that it was admirable enough, that they had come so far, still -- all of them had a bad case of the nerves the night before the final.

They were sent to bed early courtesy of Ruggeri. He ordered lights out at nine PM sharp.

Kun tossed and turned for an hour and a half. Try as he might, he just couldn't get to sleep. Leo was in similar straits. They sat up at the same time and looked at one another in the dark. It was a new moon that night so even though the curtains were pulled back, it was only because of the distant streetlights that he could see the outline of Leo's face.

"I can't sleep," Kun said.

"Me neither."

"What should we do?"

"Wait," Kun presumed Leo held up his hand though he couldn't see it. "Hear that?"

Kun trained his ears. It sounded like... talking. Talking on the ground floor.

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Dunno." Kun paused and then threw off his sheets, flipping on the lights and scrambling into his sweatpants. He was eager to do something. "Let's go find out?"

Leo frowned. "Ruggeri's going to bench us if he finds us outside."

"Yet you're still getting dressed."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Someone's got to keep an eye out for you."

Kun laughed and held back from kissing him. He waited until Leo was fully dressed before they made their way out of the room and downstairs. They discovered the other twenty-one members of the team huddled in a circle in the den.

"There they are!" Pocho exclaimed.

"We are just about to send someone to get you," Pipita added.

"Did you not get my texts?" Javi asked.

"Um," the two of them traded glances.

"Nope," Kun said.

"We were just curious about the noise," Leo added.

"Well, come here, come near, come sit down with the rest of us," Javi gestured before him and Eze and Lucas scooted to the left and right, making room for the two of them.

"Okay," Javi started, clearing his throat: "Now that we're all here, I just want to say: it's been a pleasure and an honor playing with you all. If it weren't for the team, I'd hate each and every one of you fuckers -- except Leo and _maybe_ Pablo. Maybe."

"Hey!"

"Furthermore," he continued, "I would like to thank God and Maradona that we got this far. Because Jesus Christ did this team have some problems. I mean, Aguero in defense? A flea in midfield? A frenchman as a forward?" He shook his head, "It's a miracle we're here at all and I want to take a moment to appreciate that."

He made the cross and clasped his hands in prayer.

"With God as my witness," he started, "I swear on the life of my mother, Teodolinda Chiche Tagliaro Mascherano, that if you grant us victory tomorrow, I will make the pilgrimage from Rosario to San Nicolas and light a thousand candles in your honor. Amen."

"Hear, hear!" Pocho cheered, raising his fist.

"What?" Javi asked, opening his eyes and arching one eyebrow.

"I pledge to do the same," Pocho grinned. "I mean, why not?"

The rest of them exchanged glances. Kun looked at Leo. Leo shrugged and Kun shrugged back.

"Us too," Kun added, raising his hand.

"Ah, sure, why the hell not?" Carlos yawned, raising his hand too.

"Count me in," Maxi added.

And like that, one-by-one, everyone else on the team made the same pledge.

"Wait wait wait," Marcos said, though he had already added his name to the pilgrimage list, "Doesn't that mean we'll be lighting twenty-three thousand candles?"

"Um," Javi said.

"If we win, I'll be happy to light _thirty_ thousand candles!" Pablo exclaimed.

"You're going to burn down the church!" Gabriel shot back.

"Not if I light them outside!"

"What the hell are you all doing?" Ruggeri demanded, interrupting them by appearing before them in his pajamas. "No, wait, I don't want to hear it," he interjected, holding up a hand, "When I close my eyes and count to five, you had better be in your beds, with the lights off, or I will call your parents to come pick you up tomorrow morning."

He closed his eyes and started counting. The twenty-three of them scrambled back up the stairs, giggling like schoolboys.

"I really can't believe it," Kun said when it was the two of them once more. "We're going to be playing in the finals, Leo. The finals -- us!"

"But it's not good enough," Leo insisted. There was a telling smugness in his tone.

Kun laughed, at last unperturbed by how much he wanted to close the distance between them. Soon, he told himself. Soon.

"Sure thing, boludo," he said instead. "Sure thing." Then he rolled onto his back and felt his eyelids flutter shut. He could barely muster up the energy to wish Leo good-night before he fell asleep.

-

Even if he ended up forgetting everything else, his name, his face, his favorite foods, Kun knew he would remember that match.

Vignolo's commentary of it went viral within hours and Kun downloaded the thirty-second clip as soon as he could. Of the three hundred tracks on his iPod, that clip was the only thing that wasn't a song. He listened to nothing else for the whole flight back.

_Aguero steals the ball, he sees Higuain open._

_He's passing it over but it curves -- oh, the ball curves!_

_But there's Messi, he's running, running, Messi has the ball!_

_Heitinga and Mathijsen are on him but he still has it. Messi retains the ball!_

_It's twenty meters to go, Higuain and Tevez are both --_

_He shoots! It's in! The ball is in!_

_It's a goal!_

_A goal for Argentina, a goal for Argentina!_

_Goaaaall! Goaaaaal!!_

_A goal from Leo Messi, Argentina 1, Netherlands 0 -- goaaaaal!_

_This is 111 minutes in, the second slot of extra time and Leo Messi has just scored the first goal of the match!_

_Thank you God, thank you Maradona, thank you Messi -- for football, for this goal, for this match!_

_Thank you thank you thank you!_

-

The details escaped him. He had been tasked with marking van Persie and he knew Leo was being marked by Heitinga and Mathijsen. But the match itself was a fast-paced blur. Both of their teams could have used more rest and after the first fifteen minutes of play, it was clear van Marwijk had grilled his players just as well on the essentials. Although on paper it was two teams meeting each other for the first time, in practice they had each watched hours upon hours of each other playing -- so much so that the whole game reeked of deja vu.

It didn't help that both their managers championed a defensive playing style. So even though Kun was matching up well with his mark, it was obvious that Leo was having similar difficulties on the other side and the first half of the match ended with neither side having scored. The second half of the match was the same and so the referee announced they would continue into overtime. In the first three minutes of overtime, there had been a heart-rending moment where the Dutch were awarded a penalty because of Martin accidentally elbowing Sneijder. Van Persie had been called to take the shot and Chiquito was sweating bullets. That penalty shot had been the moment the whole stadium had held its breath. Then, by the grace of God and nothing else, the shot went wide, knicking the upper bar of the goal. Chiquito looked fit to collapse and Kun wanted to do the same.

But the match went on and when they were 105 minutes in and still without any goals, the referee awarded an additional fifteen minutes. Fatigued was an understatement at that point. Kun didn't think they'd last another minute. But both sides had used up the three normally-alloted substitutions as well as the additional fourth for overtime play and -- well -- this was it.

And then, about five minutes into the second round of overtime, a brilliantly clear path from van Persie to Pipita (on the other side of the pitch) opened up and... and Kun wasn't thinking straight, that was the only explanation. Because they had gotten the practice balls two weeks prior and had been playing exclusively with them for the past six weeks so there was no excuse, none whatsoever, for how he thought he could kick the ball across the pitch. And still, that was what he did, as soon as he stole the ball from van Persie.

The ball sailed straight... for twenty meters. Then it veered wildly to the left and he felt his heart sink because it was right in the middle of the Dutch midfield. Except -- out of nowhere, and as if Death itself were at his heels -- Leo shot up, meeting the ball with his chest. He dribbled past the midfield, past the two defenders he had been unable to shake off for the entirety of the match and, somehow, in that moment, shook them off.

And then he made the goal. In the one hundred and eleventh minute of the match, Leo made the game-winning goal.

Every player on their team could have been awarded a yellow card for the celebrations that stemmed from said goal. The referee was kind enough to only card three of them, Kun included, but it didn't matter because they had scored. _They had scored_.

The remaining nine minutes passed by in a blur. The game ended 1-0 and the ref blew the whistle signalling the end of the match.

Leo ran across the pitch to meet him and Kun met him halfway. The two of them barreled into one another, with Leo tackling him to the ground, and then they rolled -- three times -- so that Leo was on top of him. And there, in the stadium drowned in Albiceleste, in front of a hundred thousand people, Leo kissed him. On the lips. For all of one second, Kun was shocked. Then he was looping his arms around Leo's shoulders and kissing him back for all he was worth.

It was a chaste kiss, despite everything, and Leo pulled back soon enough.

His cheeks were as flushed as ever and Kun was certain he was in a similar state.

"Marry me," Leo said. "Marry me and come play for Barcelona."

"Yes," Kun said, darting forward to press his lips to Leo's cheek, "Yes, yes, yes."

They'd waited long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the technical end of the plot! It's also all I have so far but the remaining two chapters will just be epilogue-style stuff. If you have gotten this far, here is the disclaimer I really wanted to smack down at the beginning:
> 
> Me: I'm going to write proper ship fic! It's going to be slow burn! They're going to get married and live happily ever after and have a dozen kids!  
> The Fic: Sure thing kiddo but I'm not going to have any smut  
> Me: No smut?!?! In a slow burn shipfic??? How can this be?!?!??!  
> The Fic: Tough beans  
> Me: Can there at least be UST??  
> The Fic: Well alright, but the payoff is going to be a kiss at the end...  
> Me: I can work with --  
> The Fic: AND ONLY A KISS. NOTHING MORE.  
> Me: NOOOOOOOO
> 
> Thank you for reading! xoxo


	25. The sacred simplicity

Chapter 25  
 **The sacred simplicity**

The plan had been thus: August 25, 2011; the Eiffel Tower; their three-year anniversary. Kun, looking at the glimmering lights beneath them; himself, looking at Kun. Then their cleared-off dessert plates would be whisked away and he would take Kun's hands and look deep into his eyes and ask The Question.

Leo had held onto said plan up until the whistle blew. Because he had been too scared to hope, he hadn't truly envisioned them winning. A part of him still couldn't believe it.

But the proof was there. All around him. In the bleachers, on the screen, on his teammates' faces.

They had won.

They had won the World Cup.

And then, even though he had been on the pitch for two hours, it was as if he hadn't played at all, for how quickly his legs were carrying him across the field, to Kun. Kun met him halfway and in that moment, Leo understood, dimly, how Maradona must have felt, all those years ago. Because all of a sudden, he was so overwhelmed with emotion -- with appreciation and affection and plain old disbelief -- that he couldn't _stay_ in his own body. All the self-control he had built up over the years vanished and he closed the distance between them.

It was only when Kun kissed him back that he actually remembered where they were. A hundred thousand people, the finals of the World Cup, and God only knew how many others were watching live. And then the words were spilling out, rushed and breathless and it wasn't what he imagined or what he had planned but Kun said yes -- _he said yes_ \-- and they hugged and Kun kissed him on the cheek.

 _I will always want this_ , he knew. The thought was so clear, it almost hurt. But then Kun was pulling away and then pulling the two of them back up and, while laughing at an unheard joke, they hobbled over to join the team, where all twenty-three of them turned into screaming shrieking jumping harpy-like children.

"We won!" someone shouted. "We won we won we won!"

For all he knew, it could have been him. It could have been any or all of them.

It wasn't the perfect he had dreamt of, the same perfect he had chased for years, but it was good enough -- ninety, maybe even ninety-nine, percent of all he ever wanted -- and as he looked to his left, suddenly aware of a hand about his own, he saw Kun. They had never let go. His heart jumped to his throat and he might've cried at the sight except then Kun turned to him and beamed, and amid the hundred thousand lights, his smile was still the brightest thing there.

And Leo did what he had always done: he smiled back.

-

Everyone was all smiles back in the locker room. It was like someone had piped laughing gas into the room for how one of them would break out into giggles and everyone would follow and Ruggeri, who was still looking as collected as ever, had more or less given up on them. He relegated the rounding up to his aides, who joined in on the giggling fits more often than not.

Somehow, they managed to get themselves in a presentable state. The albiceleste they were given to wear for the awards' ceremony had already had the third star sewn in.

They put on their new jerseys and lined up in preparation for the trophy. As the aides were doing the final run-through, Kun turned to him and reached between them, running his fingers along the three stars above Leo's heart. When he pulled his fingers away and looked up, there was something akin to awe in his eyes.

"We did it," he murmured, and Leo focused on the silver band Kun must've slipped on when they were changing back. "We did it, boludo."

In lieu of a reply (because what was he to say to something like that), Leo would've kissed him a second time. Except then the line was moving and they were at the head of said line.

As soon as they re-entered the pitch, the stadium erupted with applause. Either the ban had been lifted or the fans just didn't care anymore because the distinct honking of vuvuzelas could also be heard. Everywhere he looked there was blue and white. Both their families were somewhere in the front rows but try as he might, he couldn't see them.

Then they were lining up and watching third place (Portugal) and runner-up (the Netherlands) receive their trophies before proceeding to the awards' stage themselves.

"Hear that?" Kun asked him as they led their team's procession. "Messi, Messi, Messi," he added, as if Leo couldn't make out his own name.

"Yeah," he answered. He could feel his cheeks heating up. It wasn't like they could make witty jokes on the Champions' stage, which was good, because his brain still seemed to be processing, well, everything.

Kun squeezed his hand as they were climbing the stairs together.

"They love you," he said.

"And _I_ love _you_ ," Leo retorted. Before Kun could get another word in, he lifted their clasped hands and there was another eruption of applause. The national hymn started up again and they took their place at the left. Chiquito and Gabriel followed suit, then Maxi and Carlos, Martin and Gabriel, Pipita and Pocho, Eze and Pablo. Angel, Martin, Lucas, Martin, Nico, Rico, Eduardo, Rodrigo, Agustin, and Marcos. And at the very end stood captain and manager: Javi and Ruggeri. Javi was given the trophy and as he held it up, he received what must've been a standing ovation. Then he passed it on to Ruggeri, who kissed it and then made the cross and pointed up at the sky.

Despite the state of cacophony the stadium had descended into, Leo heard.

"For you, Diego," their manager said.

And it wasn't just him, the crowds heard too, because all at once, everyone was chanting _D10S D10S D10S_ and Leo was certain, if Maradona hadn't been paying attention then, he was definitely looking down on them now.

-

When they returned to the villa, still high off of their triumph, Leo was surprised to see his father waiting for them.

"Pa!" he called, running over to hug. "Pa, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, what does it look like?" his father grinned, pulling back to squeezed both his cheeks. "My little boy, all grown up."

"Pa, please," Leo whined, even though he was still smiling.

"Hello Mr. Messi," Kun greeted.

"Sergio," his father beamed, "Congratulations to you too." He hugged Kun as well and Leo looked around for some sign of the other members of his family. And then his father was pulling away from Kun and grabbing Leo by his arm. "I'm going to borrow Leo for a bit, okay? Don't worry, I'll send him right back!"

Kun sent him a questioning glance, to which Leo shrugged. But his dad with already dragging him off, which just went to show, even at twenty-three years old, _someone_ still saw him as a kid.

His father took him to the back of the villa, next to the floodlight which illuminated the football pitch.

"Um?" Leo asked, still unsure why his father had called him out.

His father only beamed, reaching out and grabbing both his shoulders.

"Leo, my boy," he started, pulling him in for a hug, "You proposed, didn't you?"

"How did you know?!" Leo spluttered, even as he was wrapped up in his father's embrace. His father laughed, a great rumbling sound, and he pulled away to cradle Leo's face in his palms. Leo was a head taller than his old man -- though still shorter than both his brothers -- but somehow, he felt terribly small in that moment.

"Leo," his father said, "I'm your father. Of course I'd know."

"Oh." Leo did not feel ready for this conversation. His legs still felt like jelly and the plan had been to sleep a full twenty hours before thinking of wedding logistics. But here his father was, beaming from ear-to-ear, and even though he couldn't see his mother, he was certain she knew too.

"And?" his father prompted, "What did Sergio say?"

"Yes." Saying it himself made it more real. Leo said it again, just to be sure: "He said yes."

"That's fantastic!" his father hugged him tight, "Congratulations! Congratulations, my boy! Now I'll have you know your old lady wasn't as keen the first time around but ah, that's ancient history." Before Leo could fully process that comment, his father plodded forward with: "You'll have the ceremony in Argentina, right? Now that it's possible?"

"Yes," he answered, "Yes, of course." That had been the plan, ever since Kun informed him of it, _two nights before the final_.

"Fantastic! I'll head back and tell your mother and Kun's parents," his father beamed again, patting him on the shoulder, "Celia and Adriana are beside themselves. We're just so happy for the two of you."

Leo had always known he had it good, but it was never quite so apparent as in that moment. He thought of all the love and support he had received from his family -- at every stage, at every turn -- and he knew this was but a splash in the ocean. There was love, love without beginning or end, and he swore he would love in the same way. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he threw himself onto his father, hugging him tight.

"I love you, Pa," he mumbled, "I love you so much."

His father reached up to stroke his hair before hugging him back. "I love you too Leo," he answered, before clearing his throat, "And I'm happy for you. We all are. Congratulations."

Leo cried into his father's shoulder then and it was as if he were twelve years old all over again and bidding the rest of their family good-bye at the airport in Barcelona. Except they had made it through both time and distance and even though it was longer than three years and he had been sent farther than Martín Fierro could imagine, still -- he had a home. He had a place to go back to.

He didn't know how long he cried for. It must have been some time, because Kun came back down to look for him. Then his father was drying his eyes and hugging Kun again and then the two of them watched on as his father ducked into the rental car and drove back to Johannesburg.

"Are you okay?" Kun asked him as they went back inside. They were still holding hands.

"Yeah," he nodded, lightly squeezing Kun's hand. "I'm just so happy I think I might die."

Kun laughed and poked him in the cheek.

"You are so cheesy, Leo. I never thought you had it in you."

"You started it," Leo shot back, sticking out his tongue.

"No I didn't," Kun retorted, as they made their way up the stairs.

"Yes you did."

"What did I say?"

"You said, and I quote, 'I love you to the moon and back'."

"That's not cheesy," Kun insisted, unlocking the door and pulling Leo inside. "I was just stating a fact. Like saying your hair is brown or the sky is blue."

"You are so full of shit," Leo laughed. He kissed Kun's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," Kun answered, craning his head to return the gesture. They broke apart and laughed, too tired to wash up. Leo didn't even have the energy to pull off his shirt or pants; he just collapsed into bed and rolled to the left and right until the blankets kind of coalesced over him. When he turned to the other bed, he found Kun sprawled out over his sheets with a particularly dumb grin.

"You look really stupid right now," Leo said.

"Too bad you can't see yourself."

He frowned. Or at least tried too. But no matter what he did, he couldn't stop _smiling_.

"It's not that bad," he insisted. While still smiling. God, his cheeks hurt.

"Sure," Kun sniggered, "Whatever you say." He seemed to get a burst of energy from teasing Leo, enough that he was able to strip out of his clothes and crawl under the blankets. He poked his head out and added: "My mom texted me. Says the wedding's on the fourteenth."

" _What_."

"Good night!" Kun all but warbled, turning to face the window and pulling the pillow over his head. Even with the pillow, Leo could make out his muffled laughter. He huffed; there was a conspiracy somewhere, he was certain of it.

"Good night," he said at last, before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He was reasonably certain he fell asleep with the smile still in-place.

-

The next day, Kun swore on the life of his mother and grandmother that he hadn't been told anything more about the wedding, other than that it was taking place on the fourteenth. When Leo tried asking his mother, she just replied with: _it'll be a surprise :) have some faith in us darling!_ which was NOT reassuring.

Finally he caved and called Kun's mother but even though she supposedly loved him more than her own firstborn son, her lips were just as judiciously sealed and she revealed no further information except that it would be in Argentina and that he "didn't need to worry about a thing because they had it all planned out". More smileys followed.

In a different time and place -- read: one where they weren't in South Africa, sitting through interview after interview with photo-ops interspersed, where he wasn't stuck signing autographs until he was certain his fingers would be deadlocked around the damn marker -- Leo would've gotten to the bottom of it. Because it was ~~his~~ _their_ wedding damn it and even if he was happy their families were so enthusiastic about it, he had waited too long to let them plan the whole thing! But they were World Cup Champions which meant there were a thousand and one things to do after their victory. They ended up flying back -- again, with the private charter plane -- in the afternoon of the 12th, landing in Buenos Aires in the early hours of the 13th.

Courtesy of Pablo, who probably had a little notebook filled with their birthdays and favorite foods, everyone knew it was Eduardo's twentieth birthday. First things first however, was the pilgrimage.

-

The plane touched down at Buenos Aires at four in the morning. In spite of the early hour, they were greeted with a horde of people. So followed more handshakes, photos, and autographs. After the impromptu media session, it was a three hour bus ride from the airport to Rosario. In addition to being his hometown, Maxi, Eze, Angel, _and_ Javi had been born either in the city proper or in the neighboring suburbs. It was because of Javi that they were making this pilgrimage at all, so there was a fair amount of light-hearted complaints thrown his way.

The two of them sat together on the bus, with Kun's head pillowed against his shoulder, like it had been during the flight.

Because it was still winter, by the time the bus pulled up at the southern outskirts of Rosario at 7:36, the stars were still visible in the sky. It would be another half hour before sunrise.

"Well," Javi said, looking at the twenty-two of them. "Here we are. World Cup Champions. Winners of the third star. The heroes of the nation."

"Jetlagged and hungover idiots with a death wish," Carlos added.

"Hey, no one's forcing you to come along!"

"I know," Carlos rolled his eyes, "But I swore on Javi's mom's name that I'd come, so here I am." Which was more or less everyone else's sentiment. Kun yawned, shuffling closer so he could rest his forehead on Leo's shoulder.

"So should we hold hands and pray?" someone else asked.

"Eh," Javi shrugged, holding both hands out. "Why not?"

So they got into a lop-sided circle again and Leo stood with Kun to his right and Gabriel to his left and they all held hands as Javi led them in another short prayer.

"Dear God," he started, "We give thanks for the glorious victory you have seen fit to award us with. As promised, we are now proceeding, as a team, from Rosario to San Nicolás de los Arroyos in your honor, where we will light -- " he paused, looking around them, "Um, how many candles did we say we were going to light?"

"Twenty-three thousand!" Marcos answered.

"Make that thirty thousand!" Pocho said right after.

"Um, right," Javi closed his eyes again, "Where we will light thirty thousand -- "

"Just ten thousand," Ruggeri interjected. All twenty-three of them spun to look at their manager.

"What are you doing here?" Martin blurted out.

"Following through with _my_ promise to keep an eye out for you," Ruggeri answered, crossing his arms. "And on that note: how exactly do you plan to stay hydrated during your walk?"

"We could drink from the Parana!" Eduardo -- of all people -- suggested.

"And you could also die of a waterborn disease," Ruggeri chided. "No," he concluded, "We'll follow along with the van. But please, continue." He gestured at their little circle.

"Is anyone else waiting in the bushes?" Javi demanded, "Because I'd really like to wrap up this speech and start the damn pilgrimage before the sun rises."

"No, no," Ruggeri reassured him, "Please, continue."

"Okay," Javi huffed, closing his eyes, "So please watch down on us, Lord, as we make the journey from Rosario to San Nicolás de los Arroyos on foot where we will light thirty thousand -- "

"Ten thousand."

" _TEN THOUSAND_ candles in your honor. Thank you again for your blessings. Amen."

"Amen."

They let go of each other's hands, though he and Kun lingered for a couple seconds, before looking at one another. Then as one, they turned to Javi, who rubbed his hands together and then blew on them.

"Well," he said again, "Nothing more to say. Let's get to it."

And with that they were off.

-

It had been more than a decade since Leo had last walked on the banks of the Parana. He remembered Rodrigo, who had just asked for Gabriella's hand, had taken him and Matias out for a stroll. He had just spent six months in Barcelona and was still warming up to Geri and Cesc. It had been a different time, in short.

Though he had changed, the river had not. Even in the half-hour before daybreak, the shadows by the bank spoke of a lush paradise. The team kept a brisk pace since, it being winter and all, they only had ten hours to cover the seventy kilometers to San Nicolas. At eight o'clock the sun broke through the horizon and with it, the whole forest came to life. It was so different from the Pampas, though the terrain was relatively flat, it was impossible to see where the sky touched the ground for on one side was the river proper and on the other side, a good mile of vegetation.

On and on and on they went. Marcos and Eduardo started off sprinting but they slowed down to maintain pace with the rest of time within the first hour. Javi gravitated to the front of the pack and he led the way for the rest of the march. About two hours in, Pablo came up with the idea of making a training exercise out of the ordeal. So it was twenty minutes of sprinting followed by ten minutes of jogging and ten minutes of walking. They kept this up, even as the sun reached the center of the sky. Winter was warmest up in the north and Leo found himself sweating at high noon.

Ruggeri saved them in this regard too, forcing everyone to stop and drink water and eat energy bars and sandwiches. With him around, it really did feel like a training exercise, swapping out the pitch for a jungle, mind you. They spent about half an hour eating and drinking before starting again. Courtesy of Pablo's suggestion, they were on-target for a 18:00 arrival.

About three kilometers before Villa Constitucion, the riverbank became too steep to follow. So they went up on an embankment (jogging up at what felt like a 90' incline) and continued southeast until the riverbank was navigable once more. Ruggeri stopped them a second time three hours after their first meal and with more than two-thirds of the journey behind them. There was more water, more energy bars, and some jerky for those who had complained about the vegetarian sandwiches.

It was 17:44 when they arrived before the Sanctuary. Coming towards it from the river meant the setting sun made a perfect halo around the dome.

"This is it," Javi declared. His voice was but a rasp. "We made it."

They had been walking for a little over ten hours. The weather had been near-perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and they had Ruggeri trailing behind them the whole way. But the fact all twenty-three of them had crossed it made it special and as Leo looked upon his teammates -- familiar faces, all of them -- he felt his heart swell.

A priest stood at the doors of the sanctuary. In a nod to the pilgrims of yore, the priest asked for their names. Javi gave them, one by one, and they proceeded single-file into the sanctuary. Leo had been before since it was one of his grandmother's favorite places off the pitch but it was even more beautiful than he remembered it. Long shadows followed them as they walked down the aisles. Javi dropped to his knees before the Virgin Mary and the rest of them followed suit.

Robed figures hovered in the shadows of the cloisters and the organ began to play. One by one, the sisters joined in a wondrous chorus of the santo. Leo felt a shiver run up his spine at the familiar recitations. Without meaning to, he began to sing along. Soon, all of them were singing and the sanctuary was filled with the strangely fitting harmony made by their myriad voices.

The priest led them to the back of the sanctuary where it seemed the whole town of San Nicolas was waiting for them. The sun had crossed the horizon, though it had not fully set, and the long shadows seemed to follow them out. More surprising was the sea of unlit candles spread out, from the steps leading up to the sanctuary and spilling onto the courtyard.

Ten thousand candles and then some.

Javi was handed a box of tapered matchsticks. With reverent slowness and in complete silence, he took one out and lit it. There was a spark and then the matchstick caught fire. A child in the front gave a gasp of surprise.

Leo turned when he felt someone brush by his hand. Of course it would be Kun. He clasped their hands together and squeezed lightly, at a loss for words at the scene before them. Kun twined their fingers and they watched on as Javi lit the candles. One by one, until there were twenty of them. Then his matchstick was used up. The other matchsticks were distributed among the lot of them and only then did they let go of one another. Leo only managed to light seven candles with his; he couldn't tell how many Kun had.

If it was just the twenty-three of them, they would have been lighting candles into the next day. Thankfully, the onlookers seemed to sense this and they were quick to join in. It started with the children, but as their parents saw there was no way their team would light all ten thousand candles in the night, they quickly pitched in as well.

Leo figured there were maybe three thousand people gathered. Less than a stadium, that was for certain. But if they each lit three candles, or even four... well. He didn't bother with the calculations, but the point was: by the time the crescent moon had shown itself, every one of the candles had been lit. They stood in the center of this, this sea of light, and it was Ruggeri, surprisingly, that lead them in a prayer for Maradona. It was simple and succinct, as Ruggeri had always been.

_For you, Diego. May your spirit find peace._

The onlookers cheered and there were firecrackers and fireworks and they broke apart to join in on the spontaneous celebration. Except it wasn't spontaneous -- they were celebrating Eduardo's twentieth birthday and then Ruggeri ushered them into the nearby inn where there was a proper meal followed by a blue and gold cake. They sang the birthday song and Eduardo cried and they teased him and Kun reiterated how wonderful things were, now that he wasn’t the youngest on the team.

Right as they were getting ready to tuck in the for the night -- because seventy kilometers in nine and a half hours was taxing, no matter how much adrenaline they'd been running off of -- their families -- his and Kun's -- descended on the gathering. Like vultures. Leo really couldn't think of a more flattering description. But basically Kun's parents whisked him away and Leo's parents dragged him off soon after -- this was in plain view of their teammates, by the way, who helpfully clapped and cheered and probably (Pablo and Javi especially) had a hand in things. Then his parents drove him back to their home in Rosario where they sent him to his room with the Bible, a sheet of paper, and a pen, and told him to write his vows. Either before he slept or after, whatever he pleased.

His parents were so old-fashioned sometimes. In keeping with traditional methods of contact (namely face-to-face conversation), they had completely overlooked cellphones. Leo pulled his out as soon as the door was locked behind him and typed a quick message to Kun.

_locked up in my bedroom without food or water please send help_

Kun's response was:  
 _oh no  
poor leo!!!  
:( :( :(  
who will  
i marry  
now???_

Leo choked back a laugh, determined to respond in a timely and sufficiently outraged manner:  
 _i tell you i am in grave peril and you immediately ask after another husband you're making me doubt my choice in spouse_

There was a lot of commotion going on in the rooms next to his and the first floor which Leo chalked up to wedding preparations. He still couldn't believe their mothers had arranged the whole thing without them -- or that it was happening _tomorrow_.

In the meantime, Kun answered:  
 _you're right  
that was so  
bad of me  
i promise  
i will treat  
the next one  
better :)_

Leo ended up writing _you are such a shithead i can't believe i'm marrying you_ and throwing his phone to the side, refusing to be distracted because he had spent _months_ thinking of what to put down in his vows and goddamnit if their parents were going to allow him no other part in the ceremony then he would write the very best he could. Leo flipped open the notepad and started writing and within an hour, he had filled up two pages. Front AND back. Yes, that was how long he had thought about what he wanted to say. Kun was going to be _speechless_ tomorrow. He might even cry. Leo considered if he actually wanted this.

He checked his cellphone. In the meantime Kun had written:  
 _such rude  
language  
lionel  
on the night  
before our  
wedding  
i might  
have to  
tell your  
mom about  
this :(_

And he snapped his phone shut a second time and shoved it underneath his pillow. It was _on_. He was going to make Kun cry buckets. And if he was weeping all the way to their honeymoon location then all the better. Spirit revitalized, he ripped off the first two pages and put pen to paper once more.

It was half past eleven when he was finished with the third draft (upon rereading it, the second draft had been... well, too much, and he had toned it done somewhat for the third) which was a page and a half. He had even practiced saying the whole thing, it was about five minutes long. If Kun fell asleep on the altar, he would strangle him. With this in mind, Leo went to bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

-

As it turned out, their parents had them right next door to each another. Leo discovered this when Maria Sol let him out the next morning with explicit instructions to use HER bathroom, not the communal one. And then he saw Kun coming out of the communal one and his sister shrieked _you're not supposed to see other before the ceremony_ before pushing him into the correct bathroom.

His father was waiting for him after he had finished and Kun was nowhere to be seen.

"Morning," his father said, suspiciously cheerful. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Leo cautiously answered.

"Didja write your vows?"

"Yes."

"That's my boy," his father patted him on the shoulder. "Do you want me to read them over?"

"Um," he flushed, clenching his fists, "Do I have to?"

"No, no," his father was quick to reassure him, "Don't worry, you've got a much better education than me. I'm sure it'll be great." Then he rubbed his hands and blew on them and Leo was reminded of Javi. "Okay, now let me tell you how it's going to be. We'll drive to San Lorenzo for the civil ceremony and then -- "

" _San Lorenzo_?" Leo repeated, crinkling his nose in distaste, "Why San Lorenzo?"

"Because it's the closest municipality with a head bureaucrat who hates football."

If Leo were twelve years old, he would have staggered back. How could anyone hate _football_? As it was, he merely furrowed his brows further.

"And this is desirable because...?"

"Because they won't make a big fuss," his father patiently explained. "You've spent a good deal of time keeping this under wraps. Don't want some bureaucrat to put an end to it, right?"

"Oh," he felt especially foolish. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that other couples chose to keep their relationships a secret. It was just necessary for them. "Right." He drew a deep breath, needing to remember what his father had just told him. "Okay then. So. Civil service in San Lorenzo." A part of him still couldn't believe this was happening. "And then?"

"And then we've got the chapel on Charigüé reserved for the religious ceremonies. And the hotel next door for the reception."

"Religious ceremonies?" Leo squeaked, unable to believe his ears, "We -- there -- we're having _religious_ ceremonies too?"

"Of course," his father said, scandalized that he'd think otherwise. "You're still Catholic, aren't you? Then we must have a Catholic ceremony." And then, when Leo couldn't organize his mind quick enough to catalogue all the things wrong with that statement, he clapped his hands together, "Now go downstairs to get dressed, your mother wants a photo before we're off!"

-

It was a fourty minute drive to San Lorenzo. In keeping with the (old fashioned and outdated) idea that the newlyweds weren't supposed to see one another on the day of until they were walking down the aisle, he and Kun were driven there in separate cars. Both their fathers went with them and there was a rather hilarious moment where the clerk thought their fathers were the ones getting married. He was allowed to see Kun when they were signing papers but forbidden to speak. They traded a couple silly faces, both gagging when the head bureaucrat raised his eyebrows at their names and then snidely remarked pato was the superior sport.

Then it was fourty minutes back to Rosario, where they parked at the water's edge and took -- get this -- _two separate ferries_ to the island of Charigüé. Though they had initially left the house at nine in the morning, it was a quarter to twelve by the time they arrived on the island. His father listed factoids about the island, when it was discovered, what was on it, how many people lived there and so forth. Leo tried to listen, really, because he knew it was his father trying to calm him down. But he was on edge to such an extent, it was almost like he had tunnel vision.

It was probably a beautiful island. Their parents had no doubt spent a pretty penny on decorations. But he didn't notice any of it; he wasn't even certain how he made it from the boathouse to the chapel. It was only when his mother was straightening his tie and lapels and Maria Sol was sticking a red rose in his breastpocket that he came back to himself. He moved to hug his mother and was instantly pushed away.

"And now I have to redo your tie!" she moaned, "Stand still, will you?"

Leo bit back a laugh, relieved beyond measure at how some times would never change.

"Yes, Ma," he dutifully answered, straightening his back as she fretted over him.

A thought occurred to him as Maria Sol was combing through his hair.

" _I'm_ not the bride, am I?" he demanded.

"Of course not," his mother soothed. "You're both boys. How can there be a bride?"

"Okay," he let out the breath he'd been holding. "Good."

It was only later that he discovered dozens of individual priests went against the teachings of the church, officiating unions which had yet to find a place in canon. At the present, he did a double-take, because he really hadn't expected there be to a priest at the altar. But there he was, with the bible in one hand and a rosary in the other.

Having sat through both Rodrigo and Matias' weddings, Leo knew what to expect. He kept waiting for some deviation but it never came. It helped, he supposed, that Kun was by his side for the whole thing. Once or twice he raised his hand to cup his face, no doubt hiding a grin. Leo had to bite back a smile of his own when their family members were called to stand.

This was it. This was the one chance he had to take the reins on his own goddamn wedding day.

The priest asked them to recite their vows. He turned to Leo first and Leo started. In retrospect, their vows were perfect mirrors of their SMS conversations: Leo rambled about how they had met and what they had done, about how much Kun had changed his life for the better and how he hoped to do the same, how long he had wanted now and forever, and so forth. It was basically five minutes of him spilling his heart out before both their families _and_ the national team. Because yes, someone (Pablo, probably) had thought to invite them too. And he did it, he did it gladly, because he meant every word and also because he wanted Kun to be weepy at the end of it.

When he finished, he looked expectantly at Kun. Kun was beaming from ear-to-ear but he didn't look anywhere near crying.

Then Kun smiled at him and gave his own vows.

"I promise to love you more than football."

And god damn if it wasn't what Leo had wanted to hear. He bit his bottom lip, willing his knees to stay straight, but it was no use and he found himself blinking back tears. It was unfortunate, but Kun had definitely won this round.

And to make matters worse, the priest was definitely in on it too. Leo saw, as he quickly rubbed the tears from his eyes, that the elderly man was pursing his lips, though it did nothing to hide the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Then said priest took both their hands and joined them together and the usual lines were asked. To which (surprise, surprise) they both replied in the affirmative and then... both their mothers burst into tears.

The priest faltered somewhat but Leo urged him on. And so they exchanged rings and recited an additional set of vows and were subsequently blessed along with their union and -- like that -- it was done.

-

Kun was still grinning even as they pulled up to their honeymoon destination. Courtesy of further parental meddling, the penthouse suite of the Sol Victoria had been reserved for a week for the two of them. Why Victoria, he had no idea, but at least it was driving distance. It was 17:38 as they arrived at the hotel, which meant they had just enough time to enjoy the sunset from their suite.

"I still can't believe it," Kun said, as they were seated across from one another on the balcony. He reached over to hold hands. "We're married. _Us._ " He squeezed Leo's hand and gave a nervous giggle.

"Yeah," Leo answered, not quite trusting himself to speak. "Now..." he trailed off, flushing. Kun got the message and flushed as well. Then, as one, they looked from the sunset to the bed, and then back at each other and cracked up laughing.

"Oh my God," Kun gasped, after they had nearly fallen out of their chairs. "Oh my God, you are _so_ bad," he continued, "I have married such a dirty old man."

"Like you're one to talk," Leo shot back, "I've lost track of the number of times I've woken up to your lustful gaze!"

"Ouch," Kun took back his hand to clutch dramatically at his chest, "You wound me so, husband mine!" And then, when Leo did not look especially remorseful, he fluttered his eyelashes, affecting a pout.

Leo couldn't help it, he stood up and kissed him. It was meant to be a quick peck, but Kun grabbed his face with both hands and moaned against his mouth. One thing led to another and Leo found himself leaning completely in while his knee was pressed up against Kun's crotch and his fingers were tangled in Kun's hair.

They broke apart gasping. Kun was flushed the deepest red Leo had seen on him -- yet he was certain he was in a worse state.

"Wow," Kun said, licking his lips. "That was... um... sorry," he pulled his hands back, looking down.

Leo laughed, taking his own hands back to tweak Kun's earring.

"Don't be," he insisted. "It was really good. I liked it."

"I liked it too," Kun was quick to reassure him.

They looked at one another. And then, like clockwork, they turned to the bed. This time, when they turned to look at each other, they didn't burst into laughter.

Kun licked his lips again.

"So..." he started.

Leo swallowed. Yes, this was really happening, he told himself. A part of him kept insisting he was dreaming. Yes, this was really happening and he needed to get with the program _now_.

"Right," he said. He gave a quick nod that he hoped was reassuring and jerkily pushed himself to his feet. He reached out with one hand and Kun took it so he pulled Kun up and towards the bed. "So," Leo said, when they were standing right before it. He was used to king-sized beds. Both of the beds in his flat were king-sized! But this one just looked so... intimidating. It was ridiculous, but there it was.

"So," Kun repeated.

"So I guess we take off our clothes now," Leo said. It was a reasonable thing to say, he thought, but it made Kun break out into giggles.

"You are such a romantic, you know?" he had the nerve to say after he'd finished laughing. Then he kissed Leo on the cheek.

"I'm open to other ideas," Leo grumped, crossing his arms.

"No, no, yours is fine," Kun grinned, "Even if the delivery needs work." He seated himself cross-legged on the bed and looked at Leo expectantly.

Leo looked back.

"What?" he asked.

"Aren't you going to take off your clothes now?"

"No," he scowled, " _You're_ going to take off _your_ clothes now."

"Play you rock paper scissors for it," Kun offered.

"Fine."

Long story short: Leo lost. He was pretty certain Kun had cheated, somehow. But he lost, so here he was, stripping out of his slacks, his jacket, his tie (he needed help with that), his shirt, his undershirt, his socks, and finally, his briefs. Kun was watching the whole while, eyes getting progressively wider, and Leo was certain he was red to the tips of his ears at this point. When he was completely naked, he climbed on top of the bed. The sheets felt incredibly good against his naked skin, but he wasn't about to let Kun know that.

"Okay," he huffed, "I'm done. Your turn now."

"You know," Kun said, even as he was shimmying off the bed and out of his own garments, "I think this is the first time I've seen you naked."

"...Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess we saw bits in the locker room, but it wasn't like," he paused to pull his own undershirt off before gesturing to their states of undress, "This." Then he looked right at Leo and grinned darkly, "But you've seen me, haven't you?"

Leo gulped. He had hoped Kun hadn't remembered that incident because it had been _long_ before they were a thing.

"Maybe," he said instead.

"Maybe?" Kun raised an eyebrow, "Should I remind you then, Lionel, that you cheated for it?"

Leo was discovering new levels of puce to flush, "I did not _cheat_ for it," he insisted, because this was suddenly of great importance though he couldn't recall why because Kun had just taken off his socks and was now naked save for his own briefs. He had to concentrate to meet Kun's eyes. They were filled with amused affection.

"Yes you did," Kun insisted right back, "We had a gentleman's agreement to not land on each other, but then _you_ had to go push me under the bus."

"It was an honest mistake," Leo protested, lying through his teeth. He remembered that moment well, and how his conscience had succumbed to champagne-inspired temptations that night. "I was aiming for Pablo."

Kun arched an eyebrow. It would have been more judgemental if he weren't red to the tips of his ears as well. Then he stepped out of his briefs with a shrug, tossing them to the side before climbing back onto the bed.

"Sure thing, boludo," he said, reaching out to pinch Leo's nose.

Leo jerked back with a yelp, wrinkling his nose at the unexpected contact, and Kun laughed.

"What was that for?" Leo demanded.

Kun shrugged, "Revenge, I guess."

"A bit late, don't you think?"

"Well they do say it's best served cold." Kun leaned forward again and Leo flinched back, expected another pinch, but Kun only cupped the back of his head, bringing their heads together for another kiss.

It was only because he'd painstakingly trained his body for four and a half years that he'd been able to stave off an erection. But now that he was completed naked and an equally naked Kun was kissing him, it seemed like his dick got the message -- namely, that it was finally going to see some action -- and reacted accordingly.

Kun leaned forward, deepening the kiss, and Leo drew him closer, until his knee was wedged between Leo's thighs in a reversal of their previous position. He moaned at the additional contact, tangling his fingers in Kun's hair again. Kun's hands were trailing down his sides, fluttering against his hipbone, before they rested on his knees.

They pulled apart again and Leo was sure his head would beat right out of his chest. He noted with satisfaction that Kun was also at half-mast. Kun followed his gaze down then pursed his lips and looked to the side, right hand going to the back of his neck.

"So," Kun repeated, licking his lips and focusing on the wall. It was somewhat startling how many habits they had gotten from one another through the years. Leo assumed it would only get worse with marriage (Which wasn't, he immediately protested, the worst thing. He had _some_ good habits!).

"Top or bottom?"

Leo blinked at the question, lost in a different train of thought.

"Come again?" he asked.

Kun flushed and looked at him. "Top or bottom?" he asked again.

"Oh. Right." He swallowed quickly and stammered out: "Well, see, I did some research too -- through books, and stuff -- and it turns out it's not just... that? Like, there's other things to do too."

"That?" Kun furrowed his brows in confusion.

Leo mimicked the 1-0 gesture Kun had done.

Kun flushed. "Oh," he said in a very small voice.

"Um, yeah," Leo continued, refusing to falter. They had waited so long for this, like hell they weren't going to do anything on their wedding night! "So, I was thinking, we could do... some of the other stuff. Because the first time really hurts and I heard some people can be sore for weeks afterwards and I don't want it to affect our matches..." he trailed off, suddenly certain he should have run this by Kun at some point though it wasn't like they had tons of opportunity _and_ the whole wedding was practically a shotgun affair since it was supposed to have happened a year later.

"Okay," Kun said soon after. His shoulders sagged with relief. "I mean, I was kind of excited but also scared. And yeah, it makes sense that we should... um... work ourselves up to that. Yeah." He gestured between the two of them, "So are we just kissing naked tonight or...?"

"No," Leo was very insistent on this. Except then Kun was looking at him, half curious and half aroused, and he forgot what exactly he wanted to say. He ended up copying Kun's earlier gesture, indicating the space between them. "We should..." he couldn't voice it so he just motioned for Kun to come closer.

"We should...?" Kun prompted, even as he pulled himself near.

"Um, can you lie down?" Leo asked. "On your back."

"Sure," Kun shrugged. He did so easily, it was a huge bed after all. Leo crawled over to him, twisting so that their shoulders were almost parallel even though he was seated away from the bed. The sight of Kun then, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks, with his tousled hair and his not-quite erection and the knowledge that it was all because of _him_ , well, if he didn't have such firm control over himself, it would have been enough to push him to the edge. As it was, he let out a breath before leaning down for another kiss. Kun giggled at the strange angle, tilting his chin up for more contact.

"Leo..." he said, in such a way that shivers ran up Leo's spine.

"Mm?" he asked, stealing another kiss -- just a quick peck this time; he really couldn't help himself.

"You're, um," Kun gestured at his dick, "leaking."

Leo didn't even glance down. He just chuckled, kissing Kun again.

"I am," he freely admitted, because he was a little light-headed after having kissed Kun so many times in such rapid succession (it was definitely better than an alfajore, his conscience agreed), "And soon you will be too."

Then he turned over so that he was propped up on his left elbow, in a reclining position while turned towards Kun. With his right hand, he cupped Kun's cheek. Kun turned, pressing a kiss to his palm. Leo darted forward, kissing his cheek, and as Kun turned back to him so that they could kiss on the lips, he dragged his hand downwards, tracing the dip of Kun's neck to the rise of his shoulder. Kun moaned against him, shifting underneath his touch, as he thumbed blindly at a nipple. Leo didn't linger though, determined to make good on his earlier retort. Kun broke off the kiss right as Leo's hand was trailing down his sides.

"Leo," Kun said again, reaching up to card his fingers through Leo's hair.

Leo paused in his ministrations, looking at him.

"Hm?" he asked, smiling slightly. A part of him really wanted to take his time. This part wanted Kun writhing beneath him, dripping with sweat and bucking from desperation. It wanted Kun's nails carving tracks in his skin as he screamed at climax. Leo hoped none of this showed on his face.

"It feels really good," Kun murmured, pushing himself up to kiss Leo's shoulder. The light touch went straight to his dick.

"That's good," Leo replied. It was practically a croak. "It's good for me too," he added.

Kun kissed his neck, carding his hair a little more before retracting his hand.

"Well alright," he shrugged, lying down again, "We can take turns."

And so Leo continued trailing downwards. He figured, if he couldn't make Kun cry during their vows, he could at least have him begging during sex. Or something like that. The problem was, as with all of his plans that involved Kun, the second Kun did anything -- in this case, give the most arousing strangled moan-come-gasp when Leo finally wrapped his fingers about his cock -- all his planning went out the door.

That sound -- like the kiss on the shoulder -- went straight to his dick. When he gently worked the shaft, Kun made it again and Leo was dreadfully certain he wouldn't last. Not when Kun was moaning like that. So although Kun was only _just_ fully hard and nowhere near the whimpering pleading mess Leo had intended him to be, Leo himself was one or two of those moans away from climaxing. So he pulled his hand away and gingerly repositioned himself so that he was straddling Kun.

Kun rolled his hips and moaned as their dicks slid past one another and it was only dumb luck that Leo didn't come from that.

Leo bit his bottom lip in concentration, because of course the lube would still be in his bag. The book had said spit was also acceptable but...

"Um, Kun?" he said.

Kun blinked, tilting his head to look at him.

"Hm?" he asked, eyes fluttering rapidly. Leo cursed internally; he would be extremely bitter if Kun ended up coming without him.

"Um, I have to get something from my bag. Be right back, okay?" And then, after pressing the quickest of kisses to Kun's lips, he extracted himself and all but sprinted to his bag. The lube was where he packed it -- thank God -- and he was back on the bed, clambering back on top of Kun who was still verymuch aroused, in a matter of seconds.

"What were you getting?" Kun asked. His vision was more focused now.

"Lube," Leo answered, showing him the bottle.

Kun froze beneath him.

"I thought you said we weren't doing that."

"Oh, we're not," Leo quickly reassured him, "But it just helps with the other stuff." He kissed Kun again. "Don't worry, I'm -- um -- I'm not ready for that either."

Kun relaxed under his kiss, smiling, "Okay," he said, shifting his hips, "Go ahead."

This was one of the simplest methods of achieving mutual climax. Leo had specifically chosen it because even beginners couldn't mess it up. Even knowing this, even knowing that there was no chance of getting hurt even if he had no idea what he was doing, his hands were still trembling as he squeezed out the lube.

Kun was watching him with wide eyes as he spread the lube over his cock. Then he reached between Kun's thighs and spread some more lube between them. For good measure, because the book had said more lube never hurt, he carefully coated Kun's cock as well.

"Um," Leo said, because Kun was looking at him with an unspoken question and he figured he should explain something, "So -- I'm going to slide between your legs. And it's supposed to feel good. For both of us."

Kun gave him a tight smile.

"Leo, if I can't come in the next minute, I'll finish myself off," he said, which wasn't exactly begging, but it did tell Leo he needed it bad, so it was something.

"Okay, okay," Leo took a deep breath, lined himself up, and then -- pushed in. Judging by the sharp breath Kun drew, he felt it as well. It was definitely not anal, but it was a hell of a lot more intimate than a handjob. He kind of just froze there for a couple seconds, unsure if Kun was alright.

"How is it?" he eventually asked, when Kun was still looking at where they were pressed together.

Kun looked back up and Leo felt himself drown in his eyes.

"It feels really good." He rolled his hips, making _Leo_ moan, "Really really good."

It was all the incentive Leo needed. He drew his hips back slightly before pushing them forward. Kun gasped at the motion, no doubt because it slid their cocks right up against one another. So Leo repeated it. In and out and in and out; after maybe five thrusts, the reality of the situation caught up to him and all his senses were suddenly filled and then immediately overwhelmed with Kun. He came in under a minute, collapsing against Kun with a sharp gasp, and Kun grabbed at his shoulders, digging his fingers in as he bucked upwards.

They didn't finish together, but it was pretty damn close.

They were a sweaty sticky mess and Leo rolled off of Kun, intent on getting a wet towel to wipe them off. Or at least he tried to, but then Kun grabbed his arm and rolled on top of him, burying his face in Leo's neck.

"Gross," Leo whined, even as he reached up to stroke Kun's hair. "Kun, at least let me get a towel..."

"In the morning," Kun replied, wedging himself even closer. As if he weren't already embedded in Leo's heart.

"You are so disgusting," Leo sighed, even as he gave up and pulled the sheets over them. Then he craned his head down to kiss the crown of Kun's head. "I love you, though," he added.

"I love you too," Kun murmured, drawing a deep breath and then letting it back out against Leo's shoulder.

"More than football?" Leo couldn't help asking.

There was a rumble of laughter. He felt something that might have been a peck against his collarbone. Or Kun might've started drooling.

"More than football."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredibly relieved there is enough smut to warrant an E rating. Was honestly worried the fic wouldn't cooperate enough to get there. One more chapter! \o/


	26. Of you at my side

Chapter 26  
 **Of you at my side**

It was a good thing the penthouse suite had been booked for a week because the one night wasn't enough.

Kun came to gradually. He was dimly aware the bed was otherwise empty but because the night before had been so wholly satisfying, he really couldn't wake up enough to wonder where Leo had gone. With tightly-shut eyes he snuffled his way about the bed, slithering his way from one corner to the other in what must have been a subconscious search. But the sheets were so soft and smooth and the bed was still warm even without Leo, he drifted back to sleep.

When he woke a second time, he opened his eyes fully and was treated to bits of sunlight filtered through the curtains. He gave a great yawn and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning," Leo said. Kun looked over and found him seated on the couch in a bathrobe. Seeing Leo made him acutely aware of their activities from the night before, the evidence of which was still smeared between his thighs.

"Morning," Kun answered, flashing a smile despite his rising flush. He couldn't make out Leo's expression since he was shadowed by the bits of sunlight but he was pretty sure Leo could see him.

"Sleep well?" Leo asked.

"Yeah." His stomach growled in dissent and they both laughed at that.

"I'll order room service?" Leo offered.

"Yes please," Kun nodded. Then, as Leo was walking to the phone, he quickly added thanks and was awarded with an odd look. He scrambled out of bed, horrified to see it was already half past eleven and nearly hit his knee on the jacuzzi in his desperate dash to the shower. As expected, his face was bright red. The flush was so bad, it had spread to his ears and even down to his neck! Splashing his face with cold water didn't help and the fact his reflection was grinning -- a big dumb ear-to-ear grin -- was just the cherry on top. His cheeks hurt as he stepped into the shower, and memories of the night before rushed forth, already rose-tinted from the passage of hours.

They had gotten married.

They had won the World Cup and kissed in front of the stadium and their parents had conspired for a wedding ceremony and now they were in a honeymoon suite an hour away from Rosario and they were _married_. Like, legally husband and... well, husband.

It was so ridiculous but the knowledge of it made him so _happy_. When Kun looked down at his ring, he broke into giggles. He still couldn't believe it. They had wanted it, they'd been planning for it, everyone and their mother knew about it, and still, somewhere in his heart, he had doubted they would pull it off. But here they were and he was pretty certain his heart was fit to burst.

He cleaned himself up quickly enough, stepping out of the shower to dry off and run through the rest of his morning routine. When he exited the bathroom, he found Leo had pulled back the curtains and room service had set up a smorgasboard of breakfast and lunch items on the balcony table.

"Still hungry?" Leo asked, even as he held open the door.

"Starving," Kun answered.

They sat down across from one another, with a king's banquet laid out between them. Leo was grinning too, with bright eyes and that characteristic lop-sided smile and Kun wanted to kiss him so.

"What would you like?" Leo asked, gesturing to the assortment of food.

"Whatever you're having," Kun immediately answered.

Leo carefully reached between them and cut a morsel of steak. Then he speared it on his fork and brought it towards Kun. Kun didn't even need to think; he opened his mouth and accepted the portion and if he was blushing even harder when the meaning of the gesture caught up to him it wasn't important because Leo was bright red too. With clumsy trembling hands he returned the gesture, cutting off a piece from the same steak and bringing it up to Leo's mouth. Leo ate it without breaking eye contact and the tiny pressure of his mouth wrapping about Kun's fork was somehow enough to make his dick twitch.

Kun swallowed and shifted in his seat, pulling the fork back as if burnt.

"How was it?" Leo asked.

"Um, what?"

"The meat. Was it good?"

"Oh, um, yeah." They were home after all, so of course the beef was great, but Kun couldn't concentrate on the flavor or texture at that moment. He could have been chewing grass for all his brain cared to process. Leo didn't seem to notice (or mind), stabbing at the salad bowl before lifting his fork a second time. Kun let himself be fed and then returned the gesture. He discovered Leo -- the asshole -- was _definitely_ doing it on purpose. The second time around, his mouth actually lingered on the fork, before he fluttered his lashes and pulled himself off.

Kun made to reach for a glass of juice but Leo pre-empted him, grabbing the half-filled glass of water and pressing it to his lips.

"Um," Kun said, as he was utterly incapable of coherent thought. His breath was fogging up the glass. "I don't think," he started.

"Just drink," Leo pressed, tipping the glass slightly. So Kun did. He didn't choke at least, though there was no way he could finish the whole (well, half) glass. Leo knew when it was too much, righting the glass and pulling it away just as Kun was about to pull back. Then he looked at Kun expectantly and Kun reciprocated the gesture. Leo closed his eyes and drank the whole glass this time and damn it if Kun couldn't help focusing on how his adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.

Lunch (well, technically brunch) was a slow and messy affair. By the time they ate all that they could, a third of the plates were still untouched and Kun was so light-headed he feared he would pass out -- or come -- with but a kiss.

Leo set the fork and knife aside and Kun did the same, having copied him for the past hour. Leo was looking at him expectantly and he knew he needed to say something.

He ended up croaking out: "If we do that every day, you're going to give me a heart attack," which, though not terribly romantic, was very true.

Leo laughed, reaching over to take his hand and run his thumb along the tops of Kun's knuckles.

"Don't worry," he said, though his voice caught at the end, "It's just the one time. The book said it was good foreplay."

"Foreplay?" Kun echoed, unable to believe his ears.

"You're hard now aren't you?" Leo asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, but -- " Kun trailed off, uncertain what the point was. Leo was looking at him and touching him and even though there was less than half a meter of space between them, suddenly even that felt like too much.

Leo pursed his lips and tilted his head. "But?" he prompted.

"Shut up and kiss me," Kun mumbled, opening his hand so as to twine their fingers. Leo laughed and obliged him, standing up and closing the distance between them. It was a slow and sweet kiss and Kun was initially more aware of their clasped hands than the actual kiss. But then Leo leaned in closer and opened his mouth and a sound of surprise escaped him as Leo's tongue flicked against the bottom of his mouth. He ended up tilting his head back, with his tongue all but laved out, and he could feel Leo smiling against his mouth as they tasted one another.

Kun was relieved beyond words to discover he was still hard (and indeed, now leaking) when they broke apart. Leo darted over and kissed his cheek before pulling him and over. In the blink of an eye they were back in bed and he was spread-eagled against the sheets while Leo was straddling him anew.

"Wait, wait, wait," Kun said, holding up his hands.

Leo, who was running his own hands under Kun's bathrobe, paused and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Today is _my_ turn," he insisted and then, with a devilish grin, reversed their positions like that. Leo went, grinning all the while.

"Alright," he said, baring his neck, "Do your worst."

Kun laughed, burying his head in the proffered space and licking and sucking at the skin above Leo's collarbone. Leo's hands were on him while he did this, helping divest him of the bathrobe, and when he pulled back to examine his handiwork, Leo ran his hands once more up and down his sides.

Kun was proceeding just as Leo had done the night before -- except it was early afternoon and they were a lot more comfortable with the whole thing -- when he got to the point where they were rutting against one another and remembered:

"Where's the lube?"

Leo was clutching onto the sheets and rolling his hips at that point. He was also biting down hard on his lower lip and his eyes alternated between rapid fluttering and squeezing themselves shut. He returned to the former and it took a couple seconds for him to focus on Kun. Kun bent down and peppered his cheek with kisses in the meantime.

"What did you say?" Leo asked, rolling his hips again.

"The lube," Kun murmured between kisses, "Where is the lube?"

"In the bathroom," Leo answered, pointing in said direction.

"Got it," Kun gave him a quick peck before clambering off. He made a mental note to put it on the nightstand; running off in the middle was really no fun. The little bottle was next to the toothpaste and he had already uncapped it by the time he got back to bed. Then he was climbing back on top of Leo and slathering the two of them.

"Fuck," Leo hissed as he came. This was right as Kun was sliding between his thighs. He spurted between the two of them and Kun paused, drinking in the image. Leo was still biting down on his bottom lip and his brows were furrowed with frustration like he didn't want to climax. Kun understood, and he even sympathized, but it didn't keep the sight from being the most arousing thing he'd seen.

"Fuck," Leo repeated as his hips bucked up one more time and he collapsed against the bed. He threw an arm over his face and tilted his head towards the balcony. "Sorry," he added.

Kun laughed, tangling his fingers in Leo's hair and arching forward to trail kisses from his shoulder to his neck.

"Don't be," he answered between kisses, "That was so hot." He pulled back and moved his hands from Leo's hair back down to his hips.

"I'm going to move now, okay?" he said.

Leo nodded, though his face was still half-covered by his arm. So Kun dug his fingers in and began thrusting in and out. In all fairness, it wasn't like he could last long either. He counted seven, maybe eight, strokes before he was spilling between Leo's thighs. He moaned Leo's name as he came and Leo finally reacted at that, pulling his arm away to grab Kun's face, pulling him in for another kiss.

As Kun was coming down from his own high, he was distinctly aware of Leo kissing his brow and cheek. _I love you_ , he said over and over again.

"What time is it?" he asked, as they were tangled in one another and basking in the afterglow.

Leo sat up, though he didn't stop holding hands.

"Quarter to three," he answered.

"That's way too early to sleep."

"It is."

"What should we do instead?"

"Towel off and get dressed then walk around and look for a Playstation?" Leo asked. Tone notwithstanding, he was the picture of innocence.

Kun looked at him and then broke out laughing.

"I love you so much, asshole," he snickered, even as he was letting go and rolling out of bed. They kissed again, another quick peck, before getting dressed and doing as Leo suggested.

Since it was only Thursday, the shops were still open. The one gaming shop in Victoria did have a used Playstation with two controllers for sale, but they were sold out of both FIFA and PES. Thankfully, the video rental store across the street stocked both titles. They returned to the hotel a little after four, only to discover they needed another cable to connect the gaming system to the television. By the time they returned with the cable, it was ten to five and connecting everything together was another monumental effort. At half past five, they were finally able to play FIFA so naturally they played FIFA.

It was fun, it was stupid, there was screaming and name calling and accusations of foul play (completely warrantless, as far as Kun was concerned) and it was like they were back in the Netherlands in 2005. They played five hours, eventually uniting against other pairs online, before ordering room service again for a light dinner.

-

While they were passing their days in wedded bliss, the grapevine that was Maxi and Gabriel (and to a lesser extent, Eduardo), had somehow managed to relay the news of their nuptials back to Spain. This meant that, on the morning of the seventeenth (following a day where they had actually gotten up early and gone for a jog around the city before playing football with kids in the park and going for a quick swim in the hotel pool -- all before lunch), Leo received the following text from Géri.

"You absolute asshole," Leo read aloud as they were seated across from each another at the inside table for breakfast, "How dare you get married without telling us or even, I don't know, giving us a fucking invitation. Despite this -- "

"Did you tell him we didn't have a say on the guest list?" Kun interjected. He felt bad enough leaving out his Athletico teammates, and this wasn't even getting into the fire pit that was his inevitable departure!

"Yes, along with how we didn't have a say on the whole ceremony," Leo rolled his eyes and continued reading, "Despite this, I have found in the boundless friendship and affection in my heart -- "

"Does he really say that?" Kun demanded.

"More or less," Leo shrugged.

"I don't believe you."

"I'm wounded," Leo pouted before passing his phone over. "Here, see for yourself."

Kun furrowed his eyebrows and began to read, picking up where Leo had left off from. As it turned out, Géri's messages to Leo were a lot longer and more... well, he didn't know what to call it besides motherly, but it made sense, seeing as how they were childhood friends and all. Anyways, the rest of the message was such: _Out of the boundless friendship and affection in my heart, unaffected by thoughtless heartless actions of idiots in Argentina and England, I have brought your case forward to Pep and he has made the necessary arrangements._

"He told Pep?" Kun repeated, looking up from the screen.

"Guess so," Leo shrugged again. "Don't worry. Pep already knows."

"It seems like everyone already knows," Kun huffed. Then he read the next line of the text and did a double-take, "They're doing an exchange."

That got Leo's attention too.

"What?"

"I'm being exchanged," Kun repeated, quickly rereading the bit. "Some kind of four-way trade between Zlatan, Villa, Ronaldinho, and me."

"What," Leo said again.

Except then Kun was passing the phone back and dashing to his laptop -- where it had sat, unplugged and untouched since the start of their honeymoon. He opened it up and immediately typed in Athletico transfer news and, as expected, his own transfer was the first result. Leo was right behind him, looking over his shoulder. As one, the two of them looked at the incendiary headline.

 _Tag-team of Messi and Guardiola steal star striker Aguero from Athletico_.

Despite himself, Kun immediately scrolled to the comments. Though the article had been posted less than three hours ago, there was already over a hundred replies. Mostly from furious rojiblancos accusing him of deserting the team. He got through the first three comments before Leo threw himself onto Kun, draping himself across his shoulders and hugging on tight.

Kun hugged him back instinctively and the gesture made Leo pull him closer. For a long time, the two of them stayed like that: Kun, frozen in his seat with the damning headline before him; Leo, draped behind him with his head buried against Kun's shoulder. Then Leo extricated himself just as quickly and pulled Kun up, whirling him about so that they were facing one another.

"Leo -- " Kun started, still at a loss for words.

Leo grabbed his face and kissed both his cheeks and then his mouth. Then he threw his arms about Kun's shoulders and held him close again.

It was this gesture that drove the reality home. Flores was letting him go. _Athletico_ was letting him go. He was going to be loaned out to Barcelona with the option of a permanent purchase the following year.

"I'm so happy," Leo mumbled against him, fingers digging into Kun's shoulders. "Oh God, I'm so happy."

Kun wrapped his arms about him, as certain as he had been on the plane ride back from Beijing that everything would be alright.

"Me too," he said, holding Leo just as close and feeling overcome once more with good cheer and gratitude for the world at large. How lucky they were, to have met one another at all! And how lucky they continued to be, to be born in this time and place. "Me too."

-

Seeing as how they'd been taking turns the days before, it just so happened that the seventeenth was Kun's turn to lead. Of course they were alike in this too: just as Leo took some strange delight in seeing him drenched with sweat and begging for release (the day before, Leo had kept him on edge for _two hours_ which, though nothing in the face of the three years they had waited, still felt like eternity to Kun as his whole body had been shivering with the need to come) so too did Kun enjoy the same.

"No -- " Leo protested, as soon as Kun deviated from their usual routine. "You can't -- "

"Can't I?" Kun challenged, looking him in the eye. While saying this, he spread Leo's thighs and took his erection with one hand, bracing himself against Leo's hip with the other.

"You can't," Leo answered. His voice was firm, even as his shoulders heaved.

Then Kun darted forward -- a couple centimeters, if that -- and planted a quick kiss on Leo's cockhead. Leo sagged forward, hissing with pleasure and involuntarily clenching his thighs. Kun pulled his head back, just a little, while Leo's fingers dug into his shoulders. He looked up, making eye contact with Leo once more.

"Can't I?" he asked again.

Leo's breaths were harsh and his fingernails were already digging into Kun's skin.

"No," Leo said again. "I'm older, so I should be the one to -- "

Leo moaned outright (and the sound made Kun harder) when Kun ignored him, leaning forward again to lick a quick but certain strip along the length. He could practically feel Leo shudder against his tongue.

And then he pulled back and looked at Leo again.

"Can't I?" he asked a third time.

Leo heaved a great sigh and for a moment, Kun was certain _he'd_ be the one giving in. But then Leo capitulated and the spreading of his thighs was as sweet as victory itself.

"Yes, please, fuck, yes," Leo gasped, trailing his hands upwards to tangle in Kun's hair.

Kun didn't need a second concurrence. He opened his mouth and took Leo in, drinking in the desperate moan that came in the act. It was his first time and he had decided to do it on a whim so it was a bit touch-and-go. But at the same time, he had wanted to be the first to do this, especially since Leo had led the way in the previous thing, and seeing as how they were still leaving the lube in the bathroom... well, it didn't look like Leo had any complaints with the blowjob, even though Kun couldn't manage to swallow him whole. He alternated between sucking and running his tongue against the head. When he cupped Leo's balls with one hand, Leo all but tore his hair out, thrusting forward once. It was a bit of a shock, but definitely manageable, and knowing how far Leo had gone made it all the more arousing for him.

It was a small blessing that Leo couldn't last long because Kun's jaw was already starting to get sore. But then Leo was letting go of his hair and clawing at his shoulders anew and gasping his name again and again and again and he had enough control not to thrust his hips a second time but it didn't matter because he was coming. Kun drew back, another instinctive motion, and his face was subsequently splattered with come. It was warm and sticky, just like it had been between his thighs, and he wiped it from his eyes before looking at Leo. Leo, who was seated on the edge of the sofa, looking more winded than Kun had ever seen him. His cock was softening, his chest was heaving, his nipples were red, his lips were parted, and his eyes -- he was fluttering uncontrollably, unable to focus on anything.

Right as Kun was about to finish himself off -- because the sight alone was enough to have him dripping hard -- Leo evidently regained control of himself, enough to pull Kun up onto the couch.

Kun let himself be pulled up and into Leo's lap where Leo kissed and sucked as his exposed neck before toying with his nipples as well.

"Leo," he whined, as Leo batted away his stray hand, "Leo, _please_."

Leo thankfully didn't keep him on edge this time, pressing a kiss to his exposed shoulder before wrapping his hand around Kun's cock. While he jerked Kun off with one hand, the other hand continued to pinch and flick Kun's nipples. With those two sensations and Leo's hot mouth, still pressing kisses to his ear, Kun lolled his head back, moaning as he too was taken over the edge.

It really said something about priorities, that ever since the first time though lube continued to be out of reach, a wet towel was nonetheless forthcoming. Kun blinked, still caught up in post-coital daze, as Leo wiped the come from his face, his chest, and his thighs. They were still sticky with sweat by the end of it, but at least it was only sweat. He didn't come back into himself until Leo had set the towel aside and shifted so that they were lying fully on the couch, a lurid tangle of arms and legs.

He blinked again and was awarded with the sensation of Leo's hand listlessly carding through his hair.

Kun turned and pressed a kiss against Leo's jaw.

"You'll move in with me?" Leo asked, still carding through his hair. "In Barcelona?"

"Of course," Kun answered.

Leo shifted beneath him, craning his head to kiss Kun's brow. "You'll love it," he promised, "I'll take you on a tour of the city. We can walk to the cathedral and there's dozens of good restaurants and cafes and you can see the beach from the window and -- "

Kun shut him up with a proper kiss. There was a moment of regret because he hadn't rinsed or brushed in the time between but as he moved to pull back Leo cupped the back of his neck and actually deepened the kiss. So there they were, pressed skin-to-skin against the couch, moaning into each other's mouths once more.

When they broke apart this time, Kun was so pleasantly buzzed, he would have lost his train of thought, had Leo not picked up the conversation.

"You'll love it there," he said again and there was a fire in his eyes.

Kun kissed him on the cheek this time.

"I will," he answered, "And I'll love it even without those things. Because you're there." And it should have been a sappy thing to say and Leo was supposed to hug him tight or kiss him or maneuver the two of them into bed. But instead, Leo sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Kun," he said, in a long-suffering tone, "It's Barcelona. Now that you're playing on it, you have to understand, it's a _lot_ nicer than Madrid."

"Just a minute," Kun interrupted, pushing himself up, "Athletico is loaning me out. It's not an official transfer."

"It might as well be."

"But it isn't."

"But you'll love Barcelona."

"I will."

"More than Madrid," Leo insisted. He stuck out his lower lip and Kun laughed, kissing him again. Leo was really unbelievable at times; rosarino through and through except when Barcelona was concerned.

"Maybe," Kun conceded, and then, because it couldn't be that easy, he tweaked Leo's ear and added: "But then again -- maybe not."

-

On the morning of the eighteenth, Kun was roused from slumber by a hot wet tongue that laved the length of his cock. From the content of his dreams he was already aroused and for a moment, he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. But then Leo pulled himself up and kissed him with a grin.

"I hope I featured in your dream," he said. And before Kun could process the statement much less get a word in, he slid back down and took Kun in his mouth.

Truly, they were in nuptial bliss -- Kun would've never dreamed of being woken up with a blowjob, least of all from Leo. But here he was and there _Leo_ remained, eyes fluttering upwards every now and then as he hollowed his cheeks and slid up and down. The sounds his mouth made were utterly obscene and they only turned Kun on further. He came, in a matter of seconds, and in the haze of orgasm, he thought it was triumph enough that he didn't come as soon as Leo had swallowed him.

Leo was still coasting off of yesterday's news; it was the only explanation for how there was a bubbly -- positively excited -- air around him. He was practically bouncing on his heels while Kun lazily pulled himself into a seated position.

"Are you going to shower?" Leo asked him, throwing back the curtains.

"Do I smell bad?" Kun retorted, rubbing his palms against his cheeks. He needed to shave, that was for sure.

"Nope. Come on then," Leo went to the bed and kissed him on the cheek, "Let's get breakfast in the lobby. Housecleaning will be here in half an hour."

"I need to shave," Kun noted, though he slid off of the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

"Did you bring your razor?"

"No."

"Neither did I. Okay then," Leo shrugged, "We'll go to the barber after breakfast."

"You're coming too?"

"Sure, why not?" Leo shrugged, still smiling, and Kun finally smiled back. It was really happening, he thought to himself again. He was being transferred -- well, loaned out -- to Barcelona. Leo and him would be living together -- from here on out. And because it was what he had _dreamt_ of for so long, the thought that it was happening -- that it was really happening -- was enough to make his smile even wider. He reached out and Leo took his hand and they held hands from their room to the elevator.

There was Sunday brunch at the lobby; following that, they went to the barber. Kun wanted a clean shave; Leo settled for a hint of five o'clock shadow. As they were taking the long way back from the barbershop to the hotel, on the off-chance that housecleaning still wasn't finished, Leo reached over to twine their fingers.

"So," he started, turning to look at Kun with a mischievous glint, "What were you dreaming of?"

Kun swallowed, darting a quick glance at their surroundings. The streets of Victoria were still bustling with locals and tourists alike; of course, this being the northern half of the country, the winter wasn't strongly felt.

"I don't think we should be talking about it here," he lamely answered, feeling his cheeks flush.

"Was it about me?" Leo pressed.

"Of course," it was Kun's turn to roll his eyes, "It's always about you, boludo."

"Tell me then." Leo gave him a light squeeze.

"At the hotel." Kun cursed himself then, he would have been perfectly fine never disclosing the details of the dream. Now that Leo was pressed flush-close against him, the fabricated memories were all too happy to float to the surface.

Leo pouted for a moment and then grinned.

"Fine," he said, pulling his hand away, "Race you there."

"What the -- " Kun started, but Leo was already off. What else was there to do? He took off after the other and they sprinted through the streets and back alleys, over two bridges and past a park, as they made their way back to the hotel. He was still faster than Leo over long distances, so that they finished the race neck-in-neck and bolted past the lobby doors like twin bats out of hell.

"What -- was -- that -- for -- !" Kun demanded as they were gasping for air in the elevator.

"You were the one -- " Leo started and then stopped, bending forward to breath deeply. He righted himself immediately and started again: "You were the one who wanted to come back."

"We could have walked back just fine!"

"But I'm curious," Leo insisted, and his eyes were still bright with mischief. "We're back in the hotel," he added, "So tell me."

"Back in our room," Kun grumbled. The elevator doors opened and they staggered out. There was a brief fumble for the card key and then Leo was shoving him through the door. Kun wasn't given the time to marvel at the state of the room -- clean as clean could be -- because Leo all but dragged him to the bed, kissing the air from his already-empty lungs while tangling his fingers in Kun's hair.

"Well?" Leo asked again as he drew back.

Kun fought hard to catch his breath. He had _heard_ of erotic asphyxiation being a thing but was pretty sure kissing wasn't supposed to cause it.

"What?" he asked, as soon as he was able to speak.

"What were you dreaming of?"

"You."

"I know that," Leo smiled, rolling over so he was curled against Kun (rather than plastered on top of him). "But what about the details?" As he said this, he drew circles against Kun's cheek with his thumb.

"Leo," Kun moaned as he leaned into the touch and rolled his hips.

"Tell me."

Kun huffed slightly, shifting so that he was fully facing the other.

"I dreamt you were in me," he admitted, and damn it if the admission didn't make his dick twitch. "I dreamt I was riding you and you came in me over and over again." He closed his eyes after he said it, assaulted with even more vivid images from the dream. It was more about intimacy than pleasure; having Leo pressed against all of him, in every which way.

When he opened his eyes, Leo was looking at him. His eyes were dark with lust and he scooted forward, kissing Kun deeply. They breathed in one another, touching teeth and tongues, and when they broke apart, Leo rolled so that he was lying right on top of Kun.

Kun was acutely aware of Leo's erection digging into his hipbone. Though he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, it was suddenly too much. Too much fabric, not enough skin. He moaned, rolling his hips, and Leo leaned forward, trailing kisses along his clean-shaven jawline.

Although he knew it wasn't realistic, a part of him had hoped, upon disclosing the nature of his dream, Leo would... well, snap into action. After having read so much about it from nebulous sources on the internet, Kun had convinced himself they needed to cross that bridge as soon as possible, preferably during the honeymoon. But then Leo was kissing him again and his hands were fumbling with Kun's pants and Kun was quick to reciprocate and even though they were still more or less dressed (disheveled yes, but still _clothed_ ), Leo was grinding against him and Kun couldn't think straight after that. He came with Leo's hand wrapped around both their cocks and Leo came soon after, so that their shirts and pants and the newly-made bedsheets beneath them were all speckled with come by the end of it.

As his heart continued to race in his chest and he was grimly certain so much prolonged contact with Leo would give him a heart attack, Leo stroked his hair and went back to kissing his jaw.

"Kun," Leo murmured, rolling off of him again.

"Leo -- "

"Kun, I want it too," Leo stroked his cheek, "I always have. But we have to wait. It's not... it's not something we can do now."

"Why not?" Kun asked, opening his eyes and, with effort, focusing his gaze on the other. "There's still lube, isn't there?"

"Well yeah, but," Leo flushed, giving a small huff of his own, "It's not as easy as that. We'll do it later, I promise. God," he leaned over and kissed Kun's cheek, "Don't think I'm enjoying this. I want you so bad sometimes."

Kun sighed, scooting forward to kiss Leo too. He threw an arm and a leg over the other for good measure, though it was only early afternoon.

"It's fine," he conceded. They could have basked in the afterglow for an hour, had he not followed it up with: "Probably wouldn't be able to get it up a second time anyways."

Leo paused at that, frowning. "You or me?" he asked.

Kun scoffed at that. "You're the older one."

Leo sat up as if struck by lightning, wholly offended. "By less than a year," he insisted. Then he rolled back over Kun and slid a hand underneath Kun's t-shirt.

"What are you -- " Kun started, only to be cut off with another kiss. Leo's hands were on his skin, and they were grinding against each other anew. They helped each other out of their clothes, breathless and needy once more, and it was like the handjob AND the blowjob hadn't even happened for how hard Kun was. Though they didn't manage to go all the way, Leo nonetheless had him begging within the hour and he was forced to concede they could both go for a second round before Leo wrapped his lips about Kun's cock and brought him off sweet and slow.

Afterwards, as they were properly basking in the afterglow, Kun broke the silence with: "Don't expect me to do that everyday." At the moment, he was in no condition to stand, much less dribble the ball.

Leo chuckled at that, running his fingers along Kun's hipbone. Kun shivered even though there was no chance of a third round.

"I know," Leo answered. "Don't worry, I've thought about it too."

Kun didn't know why he was surprised; Leo had wanted him in Barcelona ever since '05. Of course he would have plans. Still, it was strange to acknowledge said plans had a fair chance of being realized.

"Oh?" he said instead, raising both eyebrows and looking at Leo. "What sort of thinking?"

Leo was looking entirely too kissable then, glowing with self-satisfaction. They were on the same wavelength here as, before answering, Leo ducked over for another kiss. It was a quick peck but it still made the hair on the back of Kun's neck stand up.

"I mean," Leo started. He pulled back slightly, though he was still close enough that Kun could make out each of his eyelashes. "There's this, and then there's football. We'll always have this, but not football." He gave a helpless smile and spoke the truth they had always known: "I figure I have maybe a decade left. Maybe. Which means you've got a decade and one."

Kun swallowed and nodded, even as he felt his stomach drop.

"So we should focus on football," he concluded.

Leo nodded and then cupped his cheek, leaning over to kiss his brow.

"What's the matter?" Leo asked, "You don't like it anymore?"

The absurdity of the question was enough to pull Kun back. He laughed and pushed Leo away. "As if," he answered, "I'll take my decade and one, thank you very much." He paused and considered, "But what will you do in that extra year?"

"I don't know," Leo grinned too, "Sit on the bleachers and cheer for you, I guess?"

They looked at one another and imagined the same thing for a second. Then they broke out in giggles.

"I still can't believe it," Kun said, when the worst of the laughter passed.

"Me too."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what you mean."

Kun gave a huff which bled into a chuckle. Then he was leaning over and kissing Leo on the cheek. "I'm really excited," he admitted, because he was. "Even without this, I've always wanted to play with you."

Leo arched an eyebrow, even though he leaned into the kiss. "Could've fooled me."

"Well, I have always wanted it," Kun insisted, "I just didn't want to try for it because I was scared of moving. Well, first moving and then actually playing for the blaugranas." He shuddered a little and added, "Your fans are _scary_."

"They'll love you though," Leo replied, lips curling into a smile at the thought, "And they're really excited. Everyone's really excited."

"I'm excited too," Kun retorted. "But no nail clippings or hair trimmings, okay? Like, I'm fine with autographs and handshakes, maybe even a hug or two so long as they're not naked..."

"Don't worry," Leo laughed, "I'll be there."

"Why am I not relieved?"

"I don't know," Leo sniffed, "But you should be. So long as _I'm_ around, no one else will even take a second glance at you."

"See, I get that you wanted to be reassuring but that just sounds insulting."

Leo only laughed, tugging lightly on Kun's earring.

"You'll see," he promised. Then he swung himself up and slid off the bed. "Now what do you say to a quick job before dinner?"

To which Kun groaned, because he was still verymuch wrung out from the back-to-back orgasms, but because Leo was still glowing and bouncing on his heels, he got dressed and went. They jogged for an hour and a half before retiring to the canteen across the street from the hotel for a well-deserved dinner, laughing and joking the whole while. And if they held hands for some of it, well, at least there weren't any reporters from Spain to see.

-

The final two days of the honeymoon flew by and soon they were driving back to Rosario (for lunch with Leo's family) and then back to Buenos Aires. See, while the rest of the team had been taking the brunt of the publicity in the week in between, the media had been whipped into even more of a frenzy with the disappearance of the man actually responsible for scoring the winning goal.

So even though they drove to Kun's family with every intention of having dinner and maybe catching up, they were accosted at the door by Ruggeri's aides. Kun's father put up his hands while his mother shook her head and tutted helplessly. And so the newly-married pair were carted off to event after event. Kun had thought himself used to the papparazzi, but the reception they received as World Cup champions was on a whole different level.

And so he staggered out of the sixth interview, certain the cameras had permanently blinded him.

Leo, being the inheritor of Maradona's throne, had twice as many events as him. He had actually apologized to Kun about the discrepancy, as if Kun wanted to sign autographs until his hand fell off! No, he was perfectly happy with the amount of attention he already received; if he were pressed, he would admit even the current amount was too much at times. But that still meant he had the rest of the day to kill. It was the afternoon of the twenty-second and, judging by the text messages left by his agent, he still had _more_ appearances the next day which meant he couldn't go very far. 

Seeing as how he had already visited Emiliano's family and he knew Leo wanted to come along for a proper dinner with his own, he ended up going to the stadium at Avellaneda. It had been demolished and rebuilt in his absence and though he had watched its grand reopening on television, it still couldn't compare to seeing the real thing. It was grand, a behemoth capable of seating fifty thousand and then some, and the sight of it filled his heart with pride.

Someday, he promised. Someday, he would come back.

He went in through the visitors' entrance, still feeling oddly like an interloper, and was surprised to see a familiar face training with what he presumed to be the youth squad.

"Diego?" he said. It was more of a question than a greeting.

Diego paused in his coaching and turned to him.

"There you are," he said, entirely nonplussed.

Kun laughed and jogged over and they hugged. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Visiting the old club, what does it look like?" Diego gestured at the gaggle of teenagers who were looking wide-eyed at him.

"Are you Sergio Aguero?" one of them blurted out.

"Yes," Kun answered, beaming from ear-to-ear, "What can I do for you?"

Naturally, the kids all lined up for photos and autographs. This was fun, a lot better than sitting in a stuffy room and being photographed by dozens of professional cameramen. Kun signed the back of their shirts, the actual balls, and even one of the kid's shoes.

"That's enough of that," Diego grumbled, when Kun finished the last kid's jersey with a flourish. "When was the last time you played?"

"Three hours ago," Kun shot back. Indeed, there had been an exhibition match at the Monumental. One half of the national squad against the other half. It was both weird and reassuring, to know that he could still play as a striker. It didn't stop Géri from insisting he'd convince Pep to field him as a defender every now and then, just so he wouldn't get rusty behind the penalty line.

"Bullshit," Diego snorted (as some of the younger kids gasped). He tossed the ball over and Kun caught it with his foot, bouncing it from his knee to his chest. There was a louder, more collective, gasp of surprise from the kids.

"I'm not lying," Kun protested, holding his hands up for effect.

"Let's play," Diego said instead.

"1v1?"

"1v1."

It still felt familiar, even though they weren't in Madrid; even though it was just the two of them (along with half the youth squad). Kun was reminded of their head-to-head match-up during the World Cup. Playing with Diego was always a lesson in humility but it was also inspiring in itself. Even though Diego was nearly a decade older than him, even though he was past the magic number of thirty, still, he played as if the years were no weight at all. And once more, Kun thought: how lucky I am, to be able to play with someone like this, to be able to play _against_ someone like this.

The kids too, were suitably impressed at their impromptu 1v1 match. Though they used a single net and didn't even bother clearing the ball, there was still a rapid display of footwork, the likes of which the networks didn't bother zooming in on. Kun was still tired from the exhibition match in the morning -- that was his excuse for conceding five goals to Diego, though he took small comfort in scoring three off of the other.

And then the game was over and they were herding the kids back to the locker room and it was like they were volunteering for the neighborhood football club in Madrid, for how the kids were initially dazzled with him but ended up idolizing Diego.

"Listen," Kun started, when it was just the two of them at the entrance to the stadium.

Diego pre-empted him here, too. He rolled his eyes and punched Kun on the shoulder. "You're not gonna to apologize, are you?" he asked.

"No!" Kun started, and then coughed and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I mean..."

What he really wanted to say was: _sorry for running off on the team right as Flores made me co-captain_ or maybe _sorry for marking you in South Africa_. But what came out was: "I just wanted to say thank you. For everything."

To which Diego punched him on the shoulder again.

"What the hell," he snorted, "You're being loaned out, not sent to war. Drop the formalities, will you?"

Kun gave up then, stepping forward and throwing his arms about the other.

"Thank you," he said again, stepping back and squeezing Diego's shoulders. "I know you convinced Flores to make up with me. I'm guessing -- well, I know -- you had a hand in this transfer too."

"You've got a good thing going," Diego sighed, reaching up and combing his hair back, "It sucks you're leaving, but don't write Athletico off yet. Villa is a beast, even if he's an old man."

Kun spluttered at that. "But he's younger than you!" he protested.

"And I'm as old as dirt," Diego laughed. "Don't get your head caught up in these things," he added, "We'll kick your ass in the league, you can count on that."

"You can try," Kun countered, "We'll be ready."

-

Outside of the dozens of publicity events their agents made them go to, the two of them managed to have lunch with both their families as well as a big dinner with the whole national team. And then it was tearful good-byes that the airport as they headed from Buenos Aires to Madrid. As expected, there were a couple reporters staked out at the Athletico dorms. So even though it was understandable that Leo came with him to get his stuff -- since officially they were good friends from the national team who were eager to be playing on the club stage together -- it was of vital importance that they didn't hold hands or make out in front of the cameras. Well, they had already done that at the finals, but there was no sense adding fuel to the fire.

And so they were the picture of professionalism, gliding from the front door to the elevator. Up until Kun opened the door to his room, they maintained a good meter of space between them. But as soon as the door closed, Leo was grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him hard. They tumbled into bed and had another mostly-dressed exchange of handjobs before they started what they had actually come by to do: namely, packing Kun's things for the move from Madrid to Barcelona.

Though he had only been in Madrid since '06, he had still managed to accumulate a treasure trove of junk. Both closets were filled to the brim with trinkets and Leo was scandalized to discover a bag of pasta left over from the dorm's previous resident, crammed into the back of a cabinet.

At one point, Leo snapped and started throwing everything away. Pictures, books, autographed jerseys, whatever he could get his hands on. Kun let him and indeed was tempted to follow suit. Leo only stopped when he chanced upon a faded cardboard box covered with what must have been a centimeter of dust. It was wedged in the back of bathroom closet and he sneezed as he blew the dust off.

The sound of the sneeze alerted Kun and he popped his head through the door.

"What are you -- " he started, and then he saw the box. "Oh. Doesn't that take you back?"

"I can't believe you didn't even open it," Leo groused.

"Hey, I was barely seventeen!"

"Eighteen."

"Okay, fine, eighteen," Kun laughed. And then, because Leo still looked miffed, he added: "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"It's fine," Leo huffed, "It's probably for the best that you didn't see those messages."

"You mean -- " Kun started. Leo's flush said it all. And then he was clawing at the grimey dust-covered box and Leo was standing on his tip-toes playing keep away. Kun resorted to cheating, distracting Leo by means of a kiss against of the cabinet, before he wrested the box away. Nokia phones being what they were, the little thing powered right up after a mere five minutes of charging. Leo spent said time with his arms crossed, insistent (1) the battery was probably dead and (2) there was no way the phone had received his messages.

He was wrong on both counts and Kun was hysterical with laughter at the missed correspondence, if it could be called that. It was mostly Leo ranting about other teams, as he tended to do whenever Barcelona lost, interspersed with pleas to join the Catalan side or, barring that, at least respond. It was touching, even though Leo was clearly frustrated and embarrassed throughout the reveal. Kun kissed him again -- and again and again -- and when they stumbled back out of the dorm (having spent four and a half hours tidying up), Leo had to wear a hoodie despite the Spanish heat.

-

It was half past one on the thirtieth when they pulled into the parking lot that was attached to Leo's apartment complex. As there was nothing perishable in the car, they elected to leave everything in the trunk and backseat, beelining instead for the apartment proper. Kun was too tired to take off his clothes, giving Leo a quick peck and mumbling a sleepy 'good-night' before collapsing against the sheets. And he hadn't even driven the way back!

-

When Kun woke the next morning, he discovered Leo had pulled the covers over the both of them, though Leo too was still fully dressed. Kun lay there for a while, admiring the leftovers from yesterday. They were no longer bright red, though he was pretty sure Leo still needed to wear a turtleneck if not a hoodie.

He could have stayed like that for an hour, had the alarm not sounded. Leo bolted awake at the sound and then it was a frantic dash through their morning routines before they piled back into the car -- still crammed to the ceiling with Kun's memorabilia -- and high-tailed it over to Camp Nou.

Géri and Gabriel greeted them in the locker room and Leo introduced him to the rest of the squad. Zlatan had since been transferred to Milan and the latest rumor was that Javi would be coming over from Liverpool. Cesc was still a wild card but both Leo and Géri were certain it was a matter of time. After shaking hands with the other players, Kun was whisked off to the physicals where he was poked and prodded and made to demonstrate minimal athletic ability -- it was like being under a dozen microscopes at once and infinitely more uncomfortable than press conferences.

Thankfully, the physical only lasted an hour which meant he could meet with Guardiola before lunch.

So here he was. Well, technically, here the two of them were.

"Go on," Leo urged, elbowing him gently on the side. "You'll like him, I swear."

Kun had heard hundreds of great things about Barcelona's manager. He had even seen a couple videos (courtesy of Ruggeri and his homework) of the man in action. And still, he couldn't help feeling cowed as he stood before the door. This was the man who had agreed to sign him on. This was the man who had let Leo participate in the Olympics. This was the man who would be calling the shots for as long as they played for Barcelona.

He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," Guardiola said.

Kun shot a panicked glance at Leo.

"Go on," Leo repeated, giving him a light push, "I'll be waiting right here."

And so it was with baited breath and knocking knees that Kun opened the door to Guardiola's office. Josep Guardiola sat behind his desk, in the same swiveled armchair all managers seemed to take up. There was a plethora of placards on the wall behind him with a notable empty spot at the top shelf of his display case. Leo had told him beforehand that that spot was reserved for the Champion's League trophy which Guardiola had swore to win during his tenure as manager.

"Come in, sit down, close the door," Guardiola said, smiling at him. Kun did as told: he went inside, sat down, and then got back up to close the door. Guardiola laughed at that and he found himself laughing along. He seated himself a second time and nervously played with the cushion of his seat while Guardiola regarded him.

"Congratulations," he said.

It took Kun a minute to remember what he was being congratulated on. He winced and ducked his head, "Oh, um, thanks. Thanks a lot."

"That was an excellent play -- up until the end."

Kun cringed; the truth definitely hurt. He had been hurled through three dozen press conferences and interviews and had managed to play his reckless shot at the end off as a stroke of good luck. It figured Guardiola would see right through it.

"Yeah," he admitted, "I wasn't thinking clearly. It was just -- the second round of overtime and we had watched them play so much so..." he shrugged, "Like, a part of me thinks I was trying to catch them off guard, but I know it's not true. I was just... really tired, at that point."

"Mm," Guardiola nodded. Were his beard longer, Kun would have expected him to stroke it. As it was, Guardiola laced his fingers and then leaned forward so that his chin hovered a couple centimeters over his knuckles.

"I've seen your matches," Guardiola began anew. "And I'm damn well impressed."

Kun blinked, uncertain if he had heard right.

"Um..." he started, giving a weak smile, "Thank you, sir?"

"I'm happy to have you on the team," Guardiola continued, "And I'm expecting great things from you. From the both of you."

Kun swallowed and then nodded. "I understand," he answered, "The Champion's League, right?"

"Almost," Guardiola quirked his lips and leaning back, "But not quite. I'm surprised Leo hasn't told you. We're aiming for a treble."

"Well, he has," Kun admitted, "But I wasn't sure he was serious."

"I'm certainly serious," the man before him answered. There was a familiar fire burning in his eyes and at once, Kun understood how Leo just _clicked_ with him. "My only question is: are you?"

Kun smiled then, flooded with relief.

"Of course," he readily answered, sticking his hand out with a grin. "It's why I came here, isn't it?"

Guardiola looked at his hand and Kun was pleased to see a flash of surprise on his face. But then he schooled his expression and extended his own hand, shaking firmly.

"Welcome to Barcelona, Sergio. Welcome to Camp Nou."

-

Leo was waiting by the door. He all but leapt to his feet when Kun exited the office.

"How was it?" he asked.

Kun couldn't help himself, his face split into a grin and he grabbed Leo for a hug.

"You were right," he conceded, "I like him."

There was no 'I told you so' or extended discourse about Barcelona's assets. Instead, Leo looped his arms about Kun, fiercely returning the embrace.

"Welcome home, Kun," he whispered, turning his head to kiss Kun's cheek. His fingers found purchase in Kun's hair and he twisted just that little bit, as if they hadn't already promised forever and always to one another. Kun leaned into the embrace with his fists clenched about Leo's sweatshirt as Leo said it again: "Welcome home."

-

-

-

/fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahhh it's over!! I'm so happy, you have no idea! Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end, it was a lot of fun writing this fic and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Otherwise, well, I'm always open to alternative interpretations of their relationship hint hint hint. Thank you so much for the people to commented between the chapters and so sorry for the delay with the last chapter. But it's up now and the story is over, hooray, hooray!
> 
> For those who are interested, the fic spans 2005-05-22 (when Leo arrives in Argentina, just in time to watch Kun's match against the Argentinos Juniors) to 2010-07-30 (where Kun is loaned out from Athletico to Barcelona for the 2010/11 season).
> 
> Also this fic would not have been possible without worldfootball.net and footballia.net, much thanks to the amazingly thorough archivists there!


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